


An Exemplary Business Model

by XiuChen4Ever



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Also Someone Drops the C-Word, Alternate Universe - Big Business, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Arranged Marriage, Author Has Limited Knowledge Of Either Of These Things, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Homophobic Language, I Tried, I promise, It Was Supposed To Be Angst But I Failed, It's A Cute Cozy Fic, Just Once But It's There, M/M, Mutual Pining, No but really, Please have mercy, Sorry Prompter, mentions of rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26576191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XiuChen4Ever/pseuds/XiuChen4Ever
Summary: Jongdae never expected to get married at all, but when he does end up with a model husband, he finds himself more than a bit disappointed that their relationship is strictly business.
Relationships: Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Minseok | Xiumin
Comments: 46
Kudos: 249
Collections: Shall we Chen? Fictional Fest First Round





	An Exemplary Business Model

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheNatureKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNatureKing/gifts).



> This is not at all the kind of prompt I'd usually be drawn to, but I was feeling adventurous and asked a few friends to suggest prompts for me to claim. TheNatureKing suggested prompt SWC022, and in return I promised lots of delicious angst with a happy ending.
> 
> Well, it turns out I'm too soft for serious angst these days, but I did try to throw some in. It probably won't 'squeeze your heart like a bargain-bin sponge' as intended, but maybe it will poke your heart like a foam finger or something.
> 
> I also wrote about two career paths I know of only from reality TV shows, so I'm really sorry to any of you who are models or businessfolks for getting details wrong. But hey, Baekhyun runs around in his underwear at one point, so just, um. Focus on that instead and don't look too close at the job-related details.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

The first newspaper to be slapped onto Jongdae's desk is the Financial Times, bold headline reading KIM ENTERPRISES LOSING GROUND ON ACQUISITION. The second one is an entertainment gossip rag, mugshots of a beautiful, bruised face splashed over the front page.

Jongdae looks up at his older brother, brows twisting in confusion. 

"Your bachelor days are over, ChenChen."

Jongdae opens his mouth to protest, but Junmyeon shushes him sharply. 

"I don't want to hear any more excuses. Your gay ass can't possibly complain about his looks, aside from the bruises, but they'll heal. Joohyun and I would both happily fuck Xiumin, so whichever up or down side you're on, you ought to be well pleased by the prospect."

"Why would I— _ what?" _

Junmyeon shrugs. "Or don't fuck him, I don't care—just frame a picture of that pretty face and put it on your desk, show up to red carpets with the hottie on your arm, adopt a cat or some orphans from Africa or whatever, and start behaving like a respectable adult already before the board votes you out."

"Vote me out? I'm the best negotiator they've got!"

"Yet you'll never have their respect as long as you're a 'confirmed bachelor.' If you're not capable of heading a family, they will forever see you as incapable of heading anything else, and your sister and I can’t do all the work ourselves."

"You think dating a model who just got arrested for battery is going to make me seem responsible enough to run a company?" Jongdae's voice is breathy and his heart is pounding as he gapes up at his brother. 

"Nope, but marrying a pretty trophy from a prominent family sure will. Too bad you can't knock him up, but you'd never knock a girl up, either. At least this way nobody'll expect you to."

"I have no interest in marrying anyone," Jongdae states.

"Too bad. The contract is already signed—Dad still has your power of attorney. So congratulations, you're engaged. The photoshoot is in your calendar—do  _ not _ miss the appointment, we need to get the announcements out yesterday. And try not to fucking scowl. You don't need to look even more like a troll next to your ulzzang—at least he's shorter than you."

With that, Junmyeon's own model-worthy face splits into a guffaw. He strides out of Jongdae's office, still laughing, as Jongdae blinks stupidly down at the angry face of the man he's evidently supposed to marry.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

The guy's face doesn't look any less displeased when Jongdae sees it in person an hour later. He still looks stunning in a well-tailored suit, makeup striking despite being much more subtle than it had been in any of the images attached to any of the articles Jongdae had googled up on the way over. There are no signs of any bruises at all.

Jongdae offers a weak smile, but Xiumin doesn't even look at him. 

"Uh, hi," he tries anyway. "Sorry about all this, it wasn't my idea and—"

"And yet you're not calling it off. Which I'm supposed to be grateful for, but I'm not a fucking prostitute so you can get that idea right the fuck out of your head. I may have signed a fidelity clause, but that only means I'm not fucking anyone else, not an agreement to fuck  _ you." _

Jongdae blinks, pulling his face away from this snarling tiger. "That's not—I'd never expect—" 

"You'd better fucking not."

Jongdae is saved from further venom by the makeup artist calling him over to have an entirely new face painted on over his evidently trollish one. They dress him in the kind of dripping-with-money suit his brother and sister always wear, stifling sneers at the more serviceable business suit Jongdae prefers to spill his coffee over.

Then he’s shoved down onto a leather loveseat with his supposed fiance, who cozies right up to him with an adoring smile. He’s subjected to those wide, artfully-lined tiger’s eyes at point-blank range, and a nervous giggle slips from his throat.

“Oh,  _ perfect,” _ someone coos from behind the camera, and suddenly Xiumin isn’t even on the loveseat at all anymore, leaving only a hint of some citrusy sandalwood cologne in his wake.

In fact, Xiumin doesn’t even seem to be in the room at all.

Jongdae catches him in the lobby, no less elegant dressed in loose-fitting luxury athletic wear.

“Can I buy you a coffee or something?” Jongdae pants. “I-I mean, shouldn’t we get to know each other or…?”

Xiumin snorts. “Surely that’s not necessary. I’m just a pretty face on an empty head, after all. What could there possibly be to know? I just sign the contracts my lawyers tell me to, like a good little cash cow.” 

“But—I mean, I’m not just—you make it sound like I’m just  _ using  _ you,” Jongdae splutters.

Xiumin shrugs, hands still in his pockets, eyes on his designer trainers. “I’m not new to being used,” he says. “This isn’t even the first time I’ve been engaged like this. You’re not the only suit to want their stodgy image upgraded.”

He lifts his eyes, looking past Jongdae’s shoulder with the same distant gaze that has graced so many magazine covers. “Posing for the paparazzi or the press isn’t any different to any other modeling job. You’ll have your arm candy when you need it.”

Then beautiful, untouchable Xiumin shoulders himself away from the wall and saunters off, hands still in his pockets, eyes anywhere but on the man he’d evidently agreed to marry.

Jongdae watches him go, fully appreciating the irony of the situation. How many men in the world would look at their brand new fiance and yet be filled with crushing disappointment? How many could anticipate having the hottest human being in the world at their side at their next red carpet event, and only feel their stomach drop in silent apology?

#  ꘏꘏꘏

Junmyeon plunks an already-framed engagement photo on Jongdae’s desk the very next day. “I’m impressed, ChenChen. You actually cleaned up pretty good. And you obviously have chemistry—are you ready to thank me, now? Dad was going to offer for their mousy little daughter, but I had your dick-loving back and convinced him to go with the pretty little middle child instead. That, and we got a better deal for taking their scandal and turning it into a celebration.”

Jongdae stares at the photo, surprised at how natural it looks, how his flustered smile somehow seems romantic rather than terrified. He shrugs. “He’s a pro, Myeon. Of course he’s photogenic. Doesn’t change the fact that he fucking hates me.”

But his brother only waves it off. “Keep your couple fights at home. Speaking of, you’ll be moving into your new place together next week—Celebritats is doing an eight-page photo spread and interview, so make sure you memorize the statements in your inbox by then.”

Sick to his stomach, Jongdae clicks on his newest corporate email.  _ It’s been a rather whirlwind romance, we admit, but we’re looking forward to settling down together.  _

He runs his fingers through his hair. Whirlwind, his ass. More like a full-scale blizzard, bitterly cold and covering everything up.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

The penthouse apartment his driver takes him to the following Wednesday is way bigger than any couple could need. In fact, it’s so big that two people could live there and never see the other—which, Jongdae supposes, is probably what’s going to happen.

Xiumin is there already, looking gorgeous in luxury loungewear, all soft white fabric, gold chains, and flawless skin. His bare toes are peeking from beneath his pant legs as he stares out one of the many full-length windows, morning sun glowing in his fluffy blond hair and catching in facets of the diamond dangling from one ear. He's entirely captivating, and ignoring Jongdae completely.

Jongdae tries to be respectfully aloof, but his eyes are drawn to Xiumin like a magnet.  _ Just like everyone else, _ he tells himself. It's a model's job to look good, and Xiumin is obviously great at it.

Jongdae tugs at his own "weekend casual" outfit of chinos and a pastel polo. Next to Xiumin’s effortless beauty, he’s going to look like a sleazy, yacht-owning rich prick with his high-end rent boy. Even as he cringes, he realizes that's probably exactly the point. Xiumin is meant to be as much of an accessory to Jongdae as that dangling earring is to Xiumin. Something sparkly, to catch the world's notice, an advertisement of wealth and success.

Jongdae’s stomach flips as the door chime rings.

By the time Jongdae exchanges greetings and official introductions and escorts the chirpy interviewer and her photographer through the foyer and into the first living room, Xiumin is gone.

"That the press, babe?"

Jongdae turns toward the sound of that velvet purr. His heart stops as he takes in what exactly his reluctant fiance had managed to do in the intervening minutes to look anything but reluctant.

Xiumin is strolling down the hallway toward them, damp, shirtless, scrubbing at his hair with a towel. Jongdae had seen that chiseled torso on display in several of the magazine spreads his initial googling had turned up, but it’s a far cry from watching the model’s muscles ripple as he rubs terrycloth over his head. He evidently hadn’t bothered to run it over his body, leaving droplets of water free to run down his abs, trace the line of hair below his navel, and embed themselves in the low-slung waistband of those too-clingy lounge pants. 

Jongdae is vaguely aware of the camera flash going off repeatedly. 

Xiumin steps close, sliding his free arm around Jongdae's waist. Jongdae's arm lifts automatically to accommodate, curving over Xiumin’s back as he casually kisses Jongdae’s cheek with those plush lips.

"You wore me out this morning, babe—I need some coffee. You want anything? Or perhaps our guests?”

Xiumin turns in Jongdae’s hesitant grasp to blink big kittenish eyes at the heart-eyed interviewer and the still-clicking-away photographer. 

"Coffee would be lovely, if it's not too much trouble?"

The laugh Xiumin emits is ridiculously charming. "It's only trouble if Dae's the one you're asking—coffee in this home is solely my domain."

His eyes twinkle at Jongdae as he gives him a squeeze, then slips free to bustle about in the kitchen like he's entirely at home there. He runs the fancy espresso maker with ease and efficiency, chatting on about how it had been a gift from Jongdae, ostensibly because Xiumin likes coffee but really so Xiumin would make it for him.

"He has his strengths, though—ask him how he negotiated Kim Enterprises’s upcoming acquisition of Solid Jade Entertainment."

Jongdae blinks. "Er, well, I think it's important these things be done in person, so I spent several weeks in Beijing…"

He hadn't really been expecting to talk about work, but the SJE acquisition had been in his list of prepared statements. He gets about halfway through his little speech before Xiumin's draped over him again, pressing a mug of coffee into the hand that had been gesturing in illustration of his words.

"I do love a man who can speak a foreign language," Xiumin purrs as Jongdae's explanation of Mandarin business etiquette trails off. 

Just as well, Jongdae supposes, since that was a bit off-script, but he tends to either clam up or ramble when he's flustered. He decides it's safest to return to "clammed up," so he takes a sip of the coffee in his hand. It's hot and a bit sweet on his tongue and he blinks several times as he swallows, unable not to lift a brow at the man cuddled up to his side. Jongdae never likes coffee at home, but somehow Xiumin has made the gleaming silver machine produce the brew exactly as Jongdae likes it.

"You're really good with that machine, um. Love." He barely manages to keep the endearment from coming out as a question. 

"I just know what you like, babe." Xiumin winks up at him, bare feet rendering him a noticeable few centimeters shorter than Jongdae in his well-padded house slippers.

"Yes, well. Thank you."

"You're very welcome." Xiumin presses another warm kiss to his jaw, then pulls away to drape himself aesthetically over the arm of the nearby sofa like an imperious house cat. “Please, make yourselves at home."

Xiumin gestures at the rest of the living room furniture in invitation, and the interviewer and her cameraman, both with mugs of coffee in their own hands, murmur their thanks as they settle onto the soft surfaces. Feeling like he's in some sort of lucid dream, Jongdae drifts over to lower himself down onto the other end of the sofa Xiumin's occupying, resulting in a lapful of Xiumin's bare toes. He has chipped baby-blue varnish on his toenails. Jongdae tries not to stare at it.

The rest of the interview may as well be happening to someone else, far away. Jongdae provides answers on autopilot, sticking to the script with a minimum of stuttering caused by Xiumin's casual affection. 

_ Artificial  _ affection. It was more than a little creepy how he'd just turned that adoring gaze on like a light bulb, but when they've sent the press away, Jongdae finds himself left blinking in the dark.

Nevermind adoring, Xiumin doesn’t look at Jongdae at all. And as fake as the attention had been, having  _ nothing _ feels like banishment to Siberia. 

"Well. That was an experience," Jongdae says, rubbing the back of his neck as if to ward away the chill in the air making the hair stand on his nape.

"Same shit, different day." Xiumin heads for the bedroom, hopefully to put his shirt back on. He shuts the door behind himself in a way that feels oddly final, considering their ‘relationship’ has barely begun.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

Evidently, that’s because Xiumin intends not to even  _ have _ a relationship with Jongdae. At all. He’s probably contractually obligated to share Jongdae’s place of residence, but seems to have zero interest in sharing Jongdae’s life. Jongdae never sees him unless the press are involved, and then he’s always the perfect trophy boy, demure and deferring, the tamest of sex-kittens, purring sweetly on Jongdae’s arm.

It only makes Jongdae more and more sick.

He doesn’t know this man at all, aside from whatever tiny glimpses of his life he’d disclosed in prior interviews, but those details may be just as fake as the cute stories he tells about the gifts Jongdae’s never actually given him. But what wasn’t fake was the flash in those artfully-lined eyes the day they’d met, when Xiumin had made his scorn of the entire situation more than clear. 

He may be willing to be tied to Jongdae for life, but he will never belong to him. Never actually care about him, never even look at him without the lens of a camera pointed their way. 

And why should he? When Jongdae’s family had bargained for him like some cheap prize.  _ Buy one corporation, get a beautiful problem child for free! _ Hadn’t he said something about being traded away before? About being empty-headed, and doing what he’s told?

Those snapping eyes had been anything but empty when they’d met, but now they’re always glazed with either disinterest or feigned adoration. He plays his role well, so well that anyone who hadn’t seen those tiger’s eyes would never suspect he isn't actually docile and domesticated.

But Jongdae  _ did _ see that flash of spirit, and combined with the way Xiumin all but refuses to interact with him when the couple isn't "on show," Jongdae is beginning to suspect a terrible truth.

Shackled to a nerdy troll, beautiful, ethereal Xiumin might actually be dying inside, and the thought alone is killing Jongdae.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

“There’s no getting out of the contract, Chenny,” Jongdae’s sister Joohyun says when they meet for lunch. “And why would you want to? The press is going nuts over the pair of you, the stocks are up, the merger is going smoothly, nobody’s murmuring about ousting you from the board, the world is ours for the taking.”

“I won’t marry someone who isn’t willing.”

“Oh, he’s plenty willing. He signed the contract. Nobody put a gun to his head. He did it for his family, and you’ll do it for yours.”

Jongdae frowns down at his plate of overpriced sashimi, drawing a sigh from his sister.

“What’s so bad about being married to a beautiful, charismatic guy? He’s made Asia’s Most Bangable Bachelor list for both men and women for three years running.”

“I don’t want to bang him—”

Joohyun scoffs.

“Okay, I mean, he’s gorgeous!" Jongdae admits. "I’m not uninterested. But  _ he _ is, and that means it’s not happening.”

“What, you forget how to romance a guy since your wild college days?”

Jongdae snorts. His  _ wild college days _ had consisted of studying his ass off and occasionally being dragged to parties by his own sister. Not that he hadn’t gotten laid—Joohyun had made sure of that herself—but there was next to no romance involved whenever a pretty boy had sidled up to him and murmured, “Your sister sent me,” against Jongdae’s neck.

“Yeah, yeah, you were king of the nerds back then, but now look at you—if you can sweet talk foreign corporations into signing over the keys to their kingdoms, surely you can convince one guy to hop into bed with you. Make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“I’m not paying my own fiance for sex.”

Joohyun rolls her eyes. “Wake up, ChenChen.  _ Everybody _ pays for sex. If not with money, then with time, attention, stability, support, pregnancy, dignity,  _ something. _ There’s no such thing as a free ride. You of all people should know that.”

Jongdae does know that. Which is why he eats way too much sashimi, to make his sister pay for the reminder. But if Jongdae is truly stuck in this ‘relationship,’ he needs something else from his always-photo-ready sister.

“So, uh, what, like,  _ stuff _ do you use to make your skin look so good all the time?”

Joohyun blinks. “Stuff?”

Jongdae studies the stray salmon roe on his plate. “Yeah, you know, like, lotion? Or those gooey mask things?”

Joohyun blinks at him some more. “You’re asking me about skincare products?”

“Yeah, you know. I have to be in all these photos with Xiumin, and he’s literally a pro at looking good, and I’m… not. The makeup ladies always sigh whenever I sit in their chair, and I know I’m not going to suddenly have inherited better bone structure, but maybe the skin on top of it could be less sigh-worthy, at least?”

“There’s always surgery if you really want to change that bone structure.”

Jongdae frowns. “Yeah… do you really think I should?”

“Of course not. It’s not  _ your _ job to be the pretty one, it’s your job to look powerful and intimidating in boardrooms. Your face is fine for that—softening it would do you, and KimEnt, zero favors in acquisitions.”

“Right.” Jongdae’s not sure if he’s relieved or not.

“Why didn’t you ask Myeonnie? You know he has a whole counter in his master suite dedicated to skincare.”

“I thought about it, but I figured you’d call me a troll fewer times.”

Joohyun snorts. “You’re not a troll, ChenChen. You may not be  _ pretty, _ but you’re still handsome. Edgy. Like a rock star, not a flower-boy.”

Jongdae looks up to give his sister a smile. “I can work with rock star.”

She just laughs. “Except when you smile like that, and then you turn into a kitten.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s stick with rock star.”

Joohyun laughs at him some more, but she also gives him a shopping list, and later that day he has his own counter dedicated to skin care. It’s a bit cramped in the guest bedroom en-suite, but of course Jongdae had ceded the penthouse master suite to Xiumin, given his greater need for counter and closet space. And since he was the loser in this ‘love match,’ Jongdae figured he ought to have any possible perk to make the life sentence he ended up with more tolerable than the jail time he avoided via their engagement.

It seems so unlikely that the sweet, docile Xiumin that kisses Jongdae’s cheeks for the camera could be the sort of guy that would slam a guy’s head into a bartop hard enough to leave him unconscious, then proceed to take on that guy’s three friends and hold his own until the bouncers waded in.

All the other records are sealed and scrubbed from the press, but Junmyeon had told him that this is the third such incident Xiumin has been involved in. No wonder his family wanted him, legally, someone else’s problem. In the recent merger, they still get to claim it’s a “family-owned” company once Xiumin is married into the larger Kim clan, and they still run most of the day-to-day operations. They retain their siphoning of Xiumin’s modeling earnings via exploitive 12-year contracts they’d had newly-eighteen-year-old Xiumin sign, evidently deciding the bulk of his beauty would be diminished after he hit 30. But the next time Xiumin head-butts someone hard enough to break their nose, it’ll be his husband’s family paying off the victim.

Jongdae’s own upbringing wasn’t exactly the gentlest—his family raised and trained him to earn for them, too. He, too, had been signed into a marriage against his will. But while Jongdae’s family sometimes uses him as a mere instrument in their financial takeover of Asia, he’s never felt reduced to a mere  _ object. _ Never once felt like an indentured servant, working solely for the benefit of others without regard for himself at all. He’s been directed his whole life, had his preferences disregarded, his opinions ignored, but he’s never been truly exploited. 

He reaps the success of Kim Enterprises equally with his siblings, even though he’s the youngest. He at least gets to have an opinion, feels like his voice is heard, even if it’s often overruled. He’s the baby, only 27, and for all his education and talents in corporate persuasion, he’s no business magnate. But someday he’ll be wise and experienced enough that his words will be taken more seriously. He’ll go from tool to taskmaster. And he’ll support his siblings when they dictate schools and specializations for their children, to channel them into becoming the next generation of effective business magnates in their own right.

Xiumin’s family seems to have planned to squeeze every won they could out of his looks from birth. Like it was something they had to use up before it was gone, as if he were a product with a limited shelf life. A product they stopped giving an allowance to as soon as the contract to be married had been signed, even as they continue to claim all of his earnings and sell his face to whoever will buy it, if the billboards and magazine covers Jongdae’s become more and more aware of are any indication.

The more Jongdae learns about the man he’s due to marry, the more he rather wants to head-butt someone, too.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

The new skincare routine seems to be doing… something? Jongdae can’t say he notices much of a difference himself, but the stylists—not ‘makeup ladies’ as Joohyun had corrected him—have at least stopped sighing at him. He’s not sure if that’s down to his new twice-daily rituals and thrice-weekly application of weird goo-soaked sheets to his face at night, or if they’ve simply gotten used to the flawed canvas with which they’re made to work, but he’s scared to stop at this point lest the sighing resume.

He feels a bit less trollish, but he’s still far from always-photo-ready like his flawless fiance.

Which is why Jongdae startles like a cat confronted with a cucumber when the door chime rings unexpectedly one Friday night. Jongdae had spent all day in initial suit fittings for the wedding (evidently it's necessary to have a whole separate impeccably-tailored outfit for the reception), so he's exhausted and happy to be in his most casual loungewear instead of yet another seemingly-identical satin cumberbund. His PA had said nothing about a press visit, nor had Jongdae’s siblings inserted themselves into his shared calendar. Why is someone at the door?

Xiumin appears out of the master suite and strolls to answer the chime, looking even more stunning than usual in shiny black pants that hug his thighs and a loose shimmery top that exposes a hint of chest. His makeup is fierce, all black and copper, hair styled up off his forehead into irregular, impish spikes. 

In contrast, Jongdae is hovering behind the living room doorframe in worn sweats and pink fuzzy socks, peeking with trepidation into the foyer as Xiumin opens the door with a big smile. 

"Minnie!"

And then Xiumin is enfolded into the center of a group hug delivered by three ethereally-beautiful people. He melts into it, laughing when they spew ridiculous nicknames at him, squawking a bit when the tallest one tries to muss his hair. 

Oh.  _ Friends. _ Of course Xiumin has friends, and of course they'd come visit. Good. Xiumin looks genuinely happy to see them—not that Jongdae would be able to tell if he were faking it—and of course Jongdae wants him to be happy. To feel as if their home is  _ his _ home, where he can invite over whoever he wants. People he actually likes, who he  _ wants _ to be around. 

Throat suddenly tight, Jongdae tries to slink back into his troll cave without disrupting the glee in the foyer.

"Oh, is this your cutie? He's absolutely  _ precious." _

The shortest of the trio—still slightly taller than Jongdae—is suddenly in front of him, all couture clubwear and smoky eyes.

"Minnie, he's even more adorable in person! Look at him blush!"

The guy reaches out as if to pinch Jongdae’s cheek, and all Jongdae can do is panic silently as those elegant fingers near his face. Is he supposed to allow this? Is this normal behavior for one's fiance's friends, or is it actually as invasive as it feels?

But then Xiumin’s arm is draped around his neck, pulling him away even as he swats the approaching fingers with his other hand.

"Paws off!" he laughs. "Get your own. Jongdae’s all mine, aren't you, babe?"

"All yours," Jongdae agrees, sure his blush increases as Xiumin’s lips press against his heated cheek. He's surprised (and grateful) that his voice doesn't crack.

"Give it up, Baek," the tallest guy says. "He's already under the Xiumin Spell, you have no chance."

Jongdae certainly feels like he's under a spell. Everything about his life with Xiumin is so surreal, this chaotic encounter included.

"I wasn't trying to steal him," the shorter guy—Baek?—huffs. "I don't dognap cute puppies I see at the park, either. I just wanted to pet him a bit."

The other statuesque guy snorts. "Xiu's a cat, though—way too territorial to let you pet  _ his _ puppy."

"All mine," Xiumin repeats, giving Jongdae a squeezing cuddle and another kiss on his temple. "I'll be back late, babe, so don't wait up."

"Not even gonna introduce us?" Baek whines as Xiumin attempts to herd them out the door.

"He's a high-powered businessman!" Xiumin laughs. "He doesn't care about a bunch of frivolous fashion dolls."

_ I care about you, though.  _

The way the four of them turn to stare at him seems to indicate he'd said the thought out loud. 

"I mean, they're your friends and they make you happy, so…" he continues, trying not to sound as awkward as he feels. "If you'll forgive my lack of any sort of fashionability at the moment—and most of the time, to be honest—then I'd be glad to know the people that make my fiance smile."

Xiumin gives him an inscrutable gape as his friends all coo. Jongdae tries not to wince—he hadn’t meant to overstep. 

"I'll take five," Baek says, reaching past Xiumin’s interposed shoulder to reach for Jongdae again. "Are there gift wrap options? What am I saying? I'm just going to unwr— _ ow!" _

Xiumin withdraws his elbow from Baek's ribs as he rolls his eyes with a sigh. 

"Usually they make me facepalm instead of smile, but whatever—these are Byun Baekhyun, Kim Jongin, and Oh Sehun."

Jongdae returns each bow in turn, trying to wear his business smile instead of the one that would earn more comparisons to a baby animal. He’s not sure how much of the real situation Xiumin’s told his friends, but they certainly seem to think their match to be a real one. He’d rather not be too much of an embarrassment if he can help it.

They coo over him some more anyway and Xiumin rolls his eyes, so Jongdae’s not sure at all if he succeeded or not. He makes a mental note to share his calendar with Xiumin, too, so Jongdae can be alerted to make himself scarce when his friends visit if that’s what Xiumin prefers.

Xiumin gives him one more kiss, right at the corner of his mouth, the closest he’s gotten to a full-on kiss from his forced fiance. There’s more cooing, and then the quartet of models is gone, leaving Jongdae bemused and alone.

Friends. He’d never had time to make any, himself. He has his siblings, and he has business associates that he actually enjoys entertaining when they come to Seoul, but he doesn’t have actual friends. He’s so busy, he’d never have time to see them, anyway. He’s either at work, or he’s working from home, a habit he’s slipped into now that he theoretically has someone at home who’d presumably miss him if he slept on his office sofa, as was his not-infrequent habit. It seems harder to laugh off to his PA in the morning when the world knows who’s supposed to be waiting in his bed.

But Xiumin’s rarely around when Jongdae’s home, either out or holed up in his room. He uses the rest of the penthouse during the workday, Jongdae knows, because the sofa blankets are always folded far more neatly than Jongdae usually leaves them (though he’s tried to be better about that lately). He’s seen Xiumin fixing himself snacks, even caught him cuddled up in the overstuffed easy chair one rainy afternoon when he’d left work early for a dentist appointment. That time, it had been Jongdae who’d hidden in his room, because it had been obvious that Xiumin would retreat if he didn’t, and he’d looked so cozy and comfortable, a contented cat. It’s Xiumin’s home, too, and Jongdae wants him to feel free to use it. Or escape it, if he’d rather.

He just wants Xiumin to be as happy as possible under the circumstances. And given that his family seems to be absolute shit, Jongdae’s really glad to see that he has friends. He can only hope their relationship with Xiumin is far more real than the one he and Jongdae don’t actually have.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

Later that night, Jongdae’s phone chirps beside him on the nightstand, and he reaches for it blindly. He peels an eye open enough to see the time—3:27 a.m.—and squints at the notification. He sets the phone back down with a huff. It’s the security app informing him someone used the code to enter the penthouse, but of course it’s only Xiumin coming back from his outing. Jongdae rolls back over and reaches for sleep again, hoping Xiumin had a good time. 

His eyes fly open again when the door to the guest room swings open, letting the light from the hallway fall across his face.

“Xiumin?” he mumbles, sitting up and rubbing at his face. “Are you all right?”

He blinks at the figure silhouetted in the doorway. The only reason Xiumin would wake him is if he needed something. Is he sick? Too much alcohol?”

“Dammit,” Xiumin slurs. “You really  _ are  _ cute.”

He pours himself across the room—Jongdae’s not sure how someone so clearly hammered can move with such fluid grace despite an obvious lack of equilibrium—and flops down on top of Jongdae’s bed. And Jongdae himself.

“Do you need some help getting to bed?” He’ll only die a little bit if he has to help his too-attractive fiance undress, but—

“‘M a’ready  _ in _ bed.” 

“Getting to  _ your _ bed.”

“No. ‘M stayin’ here.” Xiumin cuddles against Jongdae’s thigh. His face is thrown into relief by the hallway light, a drowsy angel in Jongdae’s lap.

Jongdae ignores how close those plush, parted lips are to his groin. “Okay, you can sleep here. I’ll just go sleep on the sofa.” He tries to slip out from beneath Xiumin, willing his body not to respond to the warmth and proximity as he wriggles away.

“Noooo.” Xiumin curls his fingers, gripping Jongdae more tightly. “They’re right and you’re adorable and always so nice to me. You’re way better than the last guy my family sold me off to—he was super old and always stared at my ass but never looked at my face and Dae.” Xiumin squirms up beside him to bathe him in vodka breath and a wide, sincere gaze. “Dae. I have a really. Pretty. Face.”

He shifts closer. “Don’t I, Dae?”

“You do, but—”

“‘But,’ nothing! I’m gorgeous. That’s my job, Dae. But he just wanted a warm hole to jizz into, so I wasn’t sorry when he died ‘fore we got married. He was really, really old, Dae.” Xiumin presses a sloppy kiss to the corner of Jongdae’s lips. “Not like you. You’re young and cute and you never act like you own me, so you can jizz in my warm hole instead. I’m glad it’s you, instead.”

He’s moving while he’s talking, and with the last words he pushes against Jongdae’s chest to elevate himself so he’s straddling Jongdae’s pelvis. He overestimates the force needed and almost goes over backwards. Jongdae catches his forearms, cursing his groin for the twitch of interest against that cute little ass.

“Xiumin—”

“Minseok.”

“What?”

“Xiumin is my modelling name. My real name is Minseok, and that’s what I wanna hear you yell when I make you come.”

He starts moving his hips in a way that Jongdae’s groin  _ really _ likes, and Jongdae frantically sits up, sliding Xiumin—Minseok—from his groin to his thighs.

“Minseok. You need to sleep.”

“I will sleep. I’ll be sleepy after you fuck me, Dae, you’ll fuck me nice, won’t you? Give me a tug if I give you a squeeze—”

“No tugging or squeezing,” Jongdae says, ignoring Minseok’s pout as he twists him to the side, letting him land gently in the bed while standing up himself. “I mean, you can tug and squeeze yourself if you want, I guess, but I’m definitely not going to be participating.”

Minseok flops over to gape at him, squinting against the hallway light. “Wait—are you, actually, like,  _ rejecting me?” _

“No! Well, yes, I guess, technically, but only because you—”

_ “No one _ rejects me! They fucking line up for a piece of this!”

“I’m sure they do, but—”

“Do your eyes not work or something? I fucking told you, I’m fucking. Gorgeous.”

“Yes, but—”

_ “‘But,’ fucking nothing!” _

This is accompanied by a pillow slung with surprising force. Jongdae catches it square in the chest with a little  _ oof _ just in time to use it as a shield against the next three flying cushions (why are there so many on the bed?).

“I don’t think you understand, you asshole. Being gorgeous is  _ what I am for. _ I’ve been modeling since before I could fucking walk! I’ve seen the inside of a classroom more as a set for school uniform ads than I ever did as an actual student. I’ve modeled for all the best brands, they fucking fight over me! And you’re seriously trying to tell me you don’t want to stick your dick in this? I know you’re not straight, so don’t fucking lie to me.”

Jongdae blocks another pillow.

“Do you think I’m dirty? Is that it? I’m some disease-ridden come-dumpster? Well, I’m not. I’m not a whore, and I didn’t fuck my way to the top. My family sent their cash cow to the vet to have all my holes swabbed before they served me up on a platter, anyway—I’m sure you have the papers to prove I’m squeaky clean.” 

“I don’t think you’re dirty.”

“Then what’s your fucking problem?” Minseok’s eyes glitter in the light spilling over Jongdae’s shoulder, looking more like a tiger’s than ever with the smudged copper and shimmering black that surrounds them. “You’ll fucking never get an offer from someone so good-looking unless you paid for it, and even still they wouldn’t be as gorgeous as I am.”

“Minseok, I don’t care how good-looking you are, I care if—”

“You fucking  _ what?” _

There are no more pillows on the bed (finally), and Minseok scrambles for something else to throw. The only objects near at hand are the alarm clock and lamp on the end table—and Jongdae’s phone. With all his business stuff on it, that’s of course backed up but would be a hassle to download to the new phone he suddenly sees himself needing in the near future. But all Minseok does is glare at him, eyes dark with seething hatred.

“Get the fuck out,” he says, voice a velvet growl.

Jongdae doesn’t need to be told twice.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

Waking up late is the worst, but of course Jongdae hadn’t heard his phone alarm. Because his phone is still in the guest room, along with an angry tiger.

Except the tiger isn't there when Jongdae cautiously peeks through the open doorway. His phone is, though, safe and sound on the charger, and Jongdae lets out a sigh of ashamed relief as he scoops it up and starts answering the flock of alerts and text messages cluttering up his screen. 

Despite his late start, Jongdae leaves work early, hoping to catch Xiumin—he's sure any invitation to even think of him as Minseok has been revoked, if the memory of the offer even exists at all. But Xiumin’s not at home at all that night, not until Jongdae’s been claimed by sleep, at least, and he's nowhere to be found the next day, either. Or the day after that. 

It's not like Jongdae had seen him that often before, but he at least wants to know if his fiance is still alive and somewhat well. The continuing accumulation of takeout coffee cups in their recycling is a welcome sign of life, but Jongdae feels horrible about making Xiumin feel unwanted. It hadn’t been what he'd meant to convey at all, and he'll feel sick over it until he can make it right. 

Or at least try to do so—he's not at all confident about his chances of success. But it's one thing to live with someone who passively hates him, and another to know Minseok loathes him to the point that he's avoiding his own home.

Jongdae has to improve their relationship somehow, and while he's not going to treat winning his fiance over like acquiring a company, borrowing some strategies might prove fruitful.

And Jongdae never shows up to someone else's boardroom without a gift. Nothing too extravagant, just a token of appreciation and respect. Xiumin doesn’t have a boardroom, but he does have a job, and it only takes the most basic of internet searches to find his current project.

_ Come see us at Fashion Week! _ the caption says below a picture of Minseok and Baekhyun gazing at the camera, aloof and ethereal.

If it's an event open to the public, that must mean Jongdae is invited, too.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

Backstage at a major fashion show is an absolute zoo, and not just due to all the feathers and animal print. It's not only chaotic but downright dangerous, as Jongdae has to dodge not one but two tiny women brandishing sharp implements the purpose of which he dare not guess. One had what seemed like a pair of pointed shears, but the other had a fistful of tiny, two-pronged skewers, and he's pretty sure he's okay with never knowing what those are for.

"Sir, you can't be back here—oh, Mr. Kim, welcome. You don't usually oversee new acquisitions in person—are you concerned about our management of Solid Jade?"

Jongdae furrows his brow at Kim Junsu, head talent manager for the Korean branch of the entertainment company Kim Enterprises has just acquired. A man Jongdae now knows to be one of Xiumin's many uncles.

"Nothing like that, Mr. Kim. I'm simply here to support my fiance."

The man blinks at him. "Oh. Of course. The VIP seating is this way—"

"Actually, I'm looking for his… dressing room?" Jongdae certainly hopes Xiumin isn’t being stripped down out in the open like several models he'd passed on his way deeper into the curtained warren.

Mr. Kim consults the tablet in his hand. "He's modeling for Arashi this show, and their prep area is this way."

Jongdae follows the man's brisk footsteps through the maze, fighting a sudden clench of nerves as his escort holds open a curtain and gestures him through. But he steps forward with a little bow of thanks and a practiced smile. Facing his angry fiance can't be worse than negotiating with a resentful CEO during a hostile takeover. 

"Minnie's cutie!"

Jongdae’s cheeks are once again in danger of being pinched, and once again Jongdae is too stunned to react. This time, it's because his assailant is wearing nothing but a pair of briefs that match his skin tone so well, it's oddly like he's being pounced on by a feral mannequin. 

He's saved by the long arm and sheepish smile of the tallest of Xiumin's friends—Oh Sehun, if Jongdae remembers correctly.

"Baek, you menace, Mr. Kim's family basically owns our asses now, and even if he didn’t, Min will break your fingers."

"He better damn well not. My fingers are worth millions." Baekhyun admires his admittedly elegant hands over the curve of Sehun’s biceps.

"Better keep them to yourself, then, hmm?"

"That's not what you said in the bathroom an hour ago."

"Ugh, can you two shut up about your sexcapades, already? Not all of us have the luxury of a ready partner in the workplace like—" Xiumin’s words end when his heavily-made-up eyes land on Jongdae. "What are you doing here?"

"I, um. Just wanted to see you. You've been so busy, I wasn't sure you were even alive." Jongdae’s tone falls a little short of the playful one he'd been aiming for, and he suppresses a wince. "You, uh, you look really good."

Xiumin always looks good, and this look is proof. Jongdae can't think of anyone else that wouldn't look completely ridiculous in a close-tailored, military inspired suit absolutely dripping with blinged-up versions of service medals, crayon-red smoky eyeshadow, and hair up in fine, jagged spikes that make Jongdae think of a hedgehog. Which is fitting, actually, because Xiumin definitely looks prickly and ready to fight. 

But all he does is scoff, tossing a glance at their rapt audience before focusing on Jongdae again. "I'm alive. And of course I look good. I'm literally being paid to do so at this exact moment. Which is why I'm super busy—I'm surprised they even let you back here."

"I had no idea what I was walking into," Jongdae admits, trying for a smile. "I won't get in your way—I just wanted to bring you this."

He holds out his peace offering. He'd felt a bit like some stalker fanboy, pawing through their recycling bin to learn which cafe seemed to be Xiumin’s favorite. He'd furthered the comparison by chatting with the bubbly teenage barista—she failed to recognize him as the acquisitions specialist that tended to end up in the financial news, but she sure knew who Xiumin was. And she was happy to make "a new fan" Xiumin’s regular order, with a few tweaks. 

"I had them ice it, because I thought this way you could use a straw safely, it made sense with the makeup?"

Xiumin’s gaze is only slightly less cold than the cup in Jongdae’s hand. "The makeup isn't the problem. It's the fact that I'm literally sewn into these pants. There's no way I'm drinking anything that's gonna make me need a piss."

"Oh. Of course. Sorry." Jongdae lowers his extended arm, feeling like an idiot. Fashion fanboy card: revoked, along with his hopes of thawing the iceberg between himself and the man he's marrying in a week. 

"I'll drink it! I'm not even wearing pants!"

Xiumin is at Jongdae’s side, taking the cup from his cold-numbed fingers before he can do more than lift his gaze from his designer business shoes to Baekhyun’s grabby hands.

"You fucking won't," Xiumin declares. "Keep your sticky paws away from my fiance and my coffee if you want to live. My next outfit has a working fly, thank fuck, so I'll drink it then."

He turns back to Jongdae, picking imaginary lint off of his lapel. "I won't be so busy after this show—just today and tomorrow. After that, I'll see you at home more, okay?"

It sounds almost like an olive branch, so Jongdae takes it with a smile. "Okay."

"Xiumin? Why aren’t you in makeup—Oh, hello, Mr. Kim." The tiny woman who'd come to fetch Xiumin looks torn between doing her job and deferring to a company head.

"I won't keep you," Jongdae says. "Er, break a leg, or whatever the modeling equivalent is."

This earns him half a smile. "Thanks. I'd kiss you, but, you know. Makeup."

"Right. Makeup." And indeed, maybe that's what they've just done. Jongdae’s smile is probably approaching baby-animal level if the coos from the peanut gallery are any indication. He can't bring himself to care.

Xiumin blows him a kiss instead as he's led away, the woman chattering at him even as she's bowing repeatedly at Jongdae. 

"They want your lips more orange since the lights are running blue, and your order was changed, your fourth run outfit will be your third one instead, then jump to the seventh outfit, the one with the feathers, since you'll need to switch shoes with Kyungsoo for that one. There's a jacket that was added last minute for your last run,  _ don't _ forget to walk extra slow for the first run—"

Jongdae shakes his head in amazement as he makes his way out of the buzzing beehive of behind the scenes. He feels like he knows even less about the working end of the fashion industry than when he went in—it’s much simpler when it's just numbers laid out in front of him in tidy columns. But he's now more sure than ever what models are  _ not, _ and that’s "a bunch of frivolous fashion dolls."

Xiumin works damn hard for the money his family enjoys. Seeing it with his own eyes has only made Jongdae more determined to figure out what it is that  _ Minseok _ enjoys, and enable it as often as possible.

Of course, it would help if Xiumin actually talked to him for that, and aside from communicating takeout orders and being more obvious about letting Jongdae see him around the house, Xiumin still seems resolved to let silence fill the space between them.

That space would feel narrower with even a little eye contact now and then, but the floors and windows of their home are evidently far more preferable to look at than Jongdae’s face, smoother skin or no.

Jongdae would take it more personally, except that he catches Xiumin doing plenty of floor- and window-gazing when Jongdae isn't even in the room yet. He always seems far away unless a camera is there to tether him to the moment and to Jongdae.

More than simply avoiding the sight of his fiance, it seems as if Xiumin wants to avoid looking at any part of his life at all.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

The wedding is, of course, absolutely beautiful. Like a pair of fairytale princes in white tuxedos, smiling like saps, they trade romantic "handwritten" vows carefully penned by their publicist. Minseok even sheds a photogenic tear. The press will go wild over how moved he is, but Jongdae suspects it's not the promise of his new marriage opening up before him that triggers the elegant display of emotion.

It's the finality of his future slamming shut.

The kiss—their first kiss where lips touch lips—is hard to remind himself is entirely artificial. That Minseok is parting his lips for the cameras, not for Jongdae’s tongue. That he's tilting his head back so far because he's deliberately making himself shorter next to his power-broker husband, not because his knees are weak.

They are subjected to about a million other photographs, professional and paparazzi, then whisked off to their respective dressing rooms to be redressed and made over again. Then there are another million photos before they're allowed to sit at their fancy little table and eat their dainty little meal, receiving toasts from their best men.

Junmyeon goes first, giving a short, teasing speech about Jongdae being dragged out of the boardroom for the bedroom, how he'd managed to "punch above his weight" in the looks department, and how he expected to be sent a thank-you card every year on their anniversary for "introducing" the happy couple. 

It's the only time all evening that Jongdae sees Minseok’s smile slip.

But then it's Baekhyun’s turn, and he charms the crowd with several adorable anecdotes about Minseok. He describes a time where he'd told Baekhyun that he would never get married because no one could ever live up to his lofty standards—"but then he met Jongdae, and what are ridiculous, teenage standards in the face of true love?"

Jongdae manages not to cringe.

But the next story has him fighting a furrowed brow. 

"If I had a thousand won for every time anyone made even the most offhand comment about Kim Jongdae and Minnie came back with, "Get your own," I'd have enough to retire to Fiji already."

He relates how Jongdae visited during Fashion Week, and how Xiumin hardly put the cup down long enough to do a run, leaving it with the scariest stylists (who are, like everyone else on the planet, entirely charmed by him. How he'd refilled it with water after the coffee was gone even though he had a water bottle already. How he'd taken a photo of the message Jongdae had scrawled on the cup—a simple  _ Xiumin fighting! _ —and hadn’t even posted it to social media. 

"He looked like someone had stolen his kitten when he came back from his last run and the empty cup had been thrown away by the cleanup crew. If he's that whipped over a cup of coffee, nobody better touch any of the other lavish gifts Jongdae’s given him," Baekhyun concludes. "May their married life always include plenty of coffee, with enough sugar to combat any bitterness!"

On autopilot, Jongdae sips his champagne obligingly, thoughts so loud he doesn't even twitch when Xiumin lays his head on Jongdae’s shoulder for a crowd-cooing moment. He lets the shame burning in his cheeks pass for coo-induced fluster, gritting his teeth a little as he smiles down at his brand new husband.

Jongdae had been a pretty shitty fiance, to have made Xiumin resort to playing up a damn cup of coffee in front of his friends, to claim things he'd probably bought for himself as gifts from his lover. Doesn’t the guy have social media profiles everywhere? If he could stalk Xiumin enough to find out where he was working, surely Jongdae could have learned enough about his tastes to give him a non-consumable gift.

Then again, how much of what he displays on those sites is his actual personal taste, and how much is sponsored content? 

Does it matter, if Xiumin is never real with Jongdae, anyway?

The wedding guests clamor for a kiss. Obediently, Jongdae presses his lips to Xiumin’s plastic smile.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

They're whisked right from the reception to the airport so they can catch their flight to Fiji. Jongdae’s not sure that he'd have chosen such an outdoorsy place for a vacation, himself, but of course he had nothing to do with it. Photography isn't allowed in art museums, after all, and of course that’s the whole point of even having a honeymoon for them. 

"It's impossible to take bad photos in Fiji," Junmyeon had informed him, "even for you. Just try not to point the camera up your own nostril, put on that smile that makes Joohyunnie pinch your cheeks, and let Xiumin do his job to make you look good."

Which is evidently the main concern, since it wouldn't be a very believably-intimate honeymoon if they brought an entourage of stylists and photographers. But alongside the undercurrent of  _ fuck this is going to be a whole symphony of discomfort _ , Jongdae finds a small thread of anticipation, because Xiumin actually seems low-key excited.

"You've been to Fiji before, right?" Jongdae asks his new husband as they wait to be ushered onto the plane. It's probably a popular backdrop for all of Xiumin's various fashion contracts, if the contents of their luggage is any indication.

"Only for work," Xiumin answers, staring out the window at the arriving plane and pouting a little. Jongdae can’t decide if it's truly an unconscious reaction or a carefully calculated dart to an onlooker's heart. "I've never gotten to just hang out or explore or just mess around on the beach without cameras." His little pout melts into an actual frown. "And I guess that's not actually about to change. This is still technically a business trip."

It is, of course. Just another excuse to "leak" photos of them to the press, looking all sun-kissed and adoring, enjoying the conspicuous luxury of the highly successful. They have an itinerary full of photogenic activities, an embarrassing amount of luggage full of expensive clothes, and enough sponsored makeup and skincare products to slather an entire idol group.

"It could still be fun, though," Jongdae offers. "Who knows, the helmet cams might just fall off into the water during the embarrassment that will be me on water skis, and the world won't have to suffer through the sight."

Xiumin snorts. "I would not complain if that happened. Maybe they'd let us quit. I hate being in deep water like that."

"Oh? Bad experience?"

Xiumin's brow twitches at the question, but he nods. "Almost drowned as a kid. Barely managed to save myself, then got yelled at for not being where the photographer could see me for such a long time."

Jongdae sputters until words manage to escape his lips. "You almost drowned and they made you keep shooting?"

Xiumin nods at the window, gaze far away. "No crying, no coughing, only smiling. Was actually one of my best shoots as a kid. Taught me a lot."

Jongdae rather wants to go back in time and shake all the adults in child-Xiumin's life. Before he can express that thought or any other, they're being called to board the plane. There's a flurry of phone-camera flashes as nearby travelers realize just who is in their midst, and Xiumin’s adoring smile slides effortlessly over his lips. He slips a hand into the crook of Jongdae’s elbow and presses in close as they navigate the gathering crowd and the jetway, but Jongdae can’t help but feel as though Xiumin has slipped farther away.

Jongdae smiles for the cameras anyway. 

#  ꘏꘏꘏

Their hotel room reservation turns out to be for an entire cabin on the beach, complete with their own private pool. Which makes zero sense to Jongdae when the whole ocean is a hundred meters away, but his scoff to that effect dies silently in his throat in response to Xiumin’s delighted hum.

"I love swimming," he murmurs, flicking his eyes toward the departing concierge as he tempers his reaction into languid approval. 

"Just dislike the ocean?"

Xiumin purses his lips, giving a little nod with his eyes on the rattan mats beneath their feet. "No undertow in a pool."

"Makes perfect sense," Jongdae decides. "You know there's no jellyfish or anything in there with you, either."

Xiumin looks up at Jongdae, odd expression visible on his face before it's pointed away from him again. He nods at the window, once, hesitantly, then his gorgeous face splits into a wide yawn that calls to mind a sleepy cat.

'You take the bed," Jongdae says, liberating one of the many pillows from along the woven wicker headboard. "I'll enjoy the comfort of that sofa."

Xiumin chuckles through a sigh. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm more than capable of sharing a bed without molesting someone." For a split second, he looks up at Jongdae with rueful eyes. "I'm really sorry about that, by the way. I wish I'd known you were ace, it would have saved both of us some awkwardness."

Jongdae’s forehead furrows. "Known I was what?"

"Asexual." The sun has all but sunk behind the palm trees, but Xiumin seems to find the scenery fascinating despite the fading light. "I didn’t mean to make you feel bad for it or anything. I'm even dumber when I'm drunk."

"You're not dumb. And I'm definitely not asexual."

"Ah," Xiumin nods. "You like guys bigger than you are."

Jongdae shakes his head. "I've never considered myself picky. But if I had a 'type,' you'd probably be it. Is that what you're asking?"

Xiumin frowns. "I didn't think I was asking anything. But now I'm even more shocked you'd turn me down."

"Of  _ course _ I turned you down," Jongdae says, grateful for the chance to finally explain himself. "I didn't mean to be insulting or dismissive or anything, anyone would be thrilled to have you in their bed. But you told me, when you were sober, that you wouldn't sleep with me. And that was the first time I'd seen you drunk. I didn't know how lucid you were, if you would remember initiating the whole thing or not, and I wasn't about to risk you hating me forever just for one night of pleasure."

Xiumin is finally looking at Jongdae. Gaping at him, actually. He doesn't say anything for long enough that Jongdae’s mouth automatically fills the silence. 

"I know this marriage is completely unfair to you, and I'm sorry that I couldn't get us out of it. I did try, please believe that. You absolutely deserve better than to be shackled to a guy like me, but as we seem to be stuck with each other, I'll do my best to be as unabrasive a housemate as possible. Which definitely includes not taking sexual advantage of you. I'm already taking advantage of you in too many other ways."

"What the fuck planet are you from?"

Jongdae blinks.

Xiumin scoffs. "Dae, I live in your house rent-free. Your people even give me an allowance, twice what my own family did. You go out of your way to make me comfortable, and you're not even getting laid. In what world are  _ you _ taking advantage of  _ me?" _

"The one where you had a nice place to live before, too, with the bonus of either being alone or with someone you actually like. The fact that my family pays you to tolerate me can't make  _ that _ much of a difference in your lifestyle. I treat you like a fellow human being, one I'd like to be on good terms with, and in return for all this basic human decency, I get the perfect partner as far as the world is concerned. You've saved my standing with the old stodgy board members—even the one who thought marrying another dude was disgusting came up to me while you finished changing for the reception and told me he understood why I'd want to 'lock you down' for myself. And that's what I've done, whether I meant to or not—you're paying the price for my career security, with your freedom, your dignity, always ensuring you come off as devoted and small and submissive. You even seem to be lying to your closest friends about the nature of our relationship. Are those things in the contract, that you have to completely give up how you naturally are, who you naturally confide in?"

Xiumin raises an elegant brow. "Don't you know what's in the contract? Your signature was already all over it when I was signing."

Jongdae shakes his head. "My father can legally sign anything on my behalf. I didn’t even know I was engaged at all until after the contract was signed and sealed. My brother forwarded me the parts that govern my behavior, like the fidelity clause and the anti-abuse stipulations, but I don't know what's in your half. It sure seems like it's one-sided, though, so I have no idea why you signed it. I lose nothing and gain everything, while you’ve had your whole life sold out from under you."

Xiumin huffs. "And here I thought Baek was dramatic."

Jongdae presses his lips together. "I'm not being dramatic—the abuse section said as long as I didn't damage your face or hands or break any bones, I could  _ beat  _ you if I wanted! I don't care what happened at that bar, you never deserved to be forced into a slave contract."

"And what do you think would have happened to me in prison, huh? Best case scenario, some massive brute takes a shine to me, and I am only repeatedly violated by  _ him _ for five to seven years instead of being passed around like a double-ended fleshlight in the gang showers. Out here I just have you to deal with, and I figured I could handle a skinny suit that's not any bigger than I am."

Jongdae snorts.

"Besides, I can't work if I'm in prison, and the passage of time isn't generally kind to models. I need to make the most of this pretty face while I can."

Jongdae frowns. "You're so much more than that, Xiumin."

Now Xiumin snorts. "He says as he calls me by my modelling name."

"Sorry. I wasn't sure if you remembered telling me your real name, and I didn’t want to presume we were close enough for me to actually use it."

"Aside from my parents and their lawyer, you are the only one I'm allowed to be fully honest with. If that’s not 'close enough,' then I don't know what is."

"Minseok, then," Jongdae says, swallowing the frown Minseok’s enforced isolation triggers and replacing it with a tentative smile. "I'd certainly like to be closer—if we're friends, at least, then what you tell your  _ real _ friends about us isn't as much of a lie."

Minseok’s gaze is back on the floor, expression hidden by the deepening shadows of the night. For a moment, the only sounds are the rolling waves and the chirping crickets.

"You're a weird guy, Kim Jongdae," Minseok finally says, then climbs into bed.

Jongdae takes his pillow and retreats to the sofa, entirely unsure what to make of that.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

In the morning, Jongdae is ruefully reminded of those old monkey's paw stories.  _ Be careful what you wish for, _ those tales always warn, and sure enough, it's Jongdae that's closing his eyes in the face of Minseok’s focused gaze. As usual, he smells lovely, and his touch is gentle as he applies product to Jongdae’s face.

Jongdae tries not to think about pulling Minseok into his lap. He mostly fails. It does not help that Minseok is wearing a tank top that shows off his shoulders and Jongdae can still see it with his eyes closed. Nor does it help that Minseok is all but in Jongdae’s lap anyway as he plays the stylist, making Jongdae presentable for all the selfies to follow all day.

“Hold still,” Minseok admonishes.

Jongdae tries. He ignores everything happening below his waist. And everything happening above his shoulders. He tries very hard to be the most zen of torsos, breathing steadily in and out, unaffected by worldly things.

"Can I pluck your eyebrows?"

Jongdae’s eyes cly open and he leans away from Minseok, smacking the back of his head on the tile behind him. "What? Why? And then just draw them back on? What's wrong with my eyebrows?" He resists the urge to cover them with his hands, mindful of the fact that his face is freshly coated in anti-troll paint.

Minseok is blinking at him, wide-eyed. "Not, like, pluck away your entire eyebrow! Who would even do that?"

"I don't know! You said 'pluck your brows,' what was I supposed to think?"

"The normal thing? Where I'd just remove a few stray hairs, clean up their shape a bit? It's a really common phrase for a really common thing to do. Did you live under a rock before your family trotted you out to get married, or what?"

"Trolls traditionally live under bridges, not rocks," Jongdae mumbles, embarrassment coloring his cheeks far more effectively than the tinted, suncream-infused moisturizer Minseok had applied.

Xiumin lifts one perfectly-shaped eyebrow. "Having ungroomed brows hardly makes you a troll," he huffs. "Always so dramatic."

"I've never even thought to include my unruly brows on the list of my trollish features, but I will be sure to do so from now on," Jongdae grumbles. "Go ahead and do whatever you need to do to be able to post selfies with me in them that won't damage your brand."

Jongdae may not fully understand fashion, but he does understand marketing. 'Xiumin' is Minseok’s main 'product,' so of course he needs all the props in his photos to be promotion-worthy, including his unwanted husband. 

“Sorry you got stuck with someone so hard to make camera-ready,” Jongdae says as he closes his eyes, resigned to suffering a bit in a bid to upgrade his looks. It's only fair, he supposes, given everything that Minseok has to tolerate.

But Minseok's shadow stays where it is, and his voice is soft when he speaks. 

"Jongdae… do you actually believe that you're unattractive, or is this all some big joke I don't know you well enough to get?"

Oh, no. Jongdae knows this tone of voice. It's the one his sister uses when she assures him she'll make  _ sure _ he has a good time at a party she wants him to go to "for his own good." This is pity, and Jongdae wants to laugh at the irony of it all.

So he lets himself. It's an easy out, and he takes it. "Of course I'm joking! If you're the beauty in this little fairytale we're selling the public, that makes me the beast, right?" He tries for his most coo-worthy smile. Minseok does not coo.

Instead, he gives Jongdae an oddly scrutinizing look, like he's trying to decide if Jongdae is being real with him. Jongdae just keeps smiling, closing his eyes again and tilting his face upward for any further products or procedures Minseok deems necessary. He may not be so practiced at it as the King of Make-Believe standing opposite, but Jongdae still knows how to play a role.

"You really are weird," Minseok finally huffs. "But you're definitely not a troll. You're just a bit rough, like you don't always take very good care of yourself. Don't get enough sleep, don't take vitamins, that sort of thing, usually only noticeable to people trained to look for stuff like that. I'm not trying to cover up anything with this BB cream, just make sure you don't get sunburned and that you don't look washed out in photos, that all your features will be highlighted for the camera. For someone I've seen slumped against their laptop keyboard when I've woken up at dawn for an early call, your skin is actually really good."

"I put goo on it," Jongdae says, eyes still closed. "My sister picked it out for me. I'll tell her it's working."

Minseok's hum is carefully neutral. "Well. Brow-plucking is sort of like that. Like having a nice haircut that flatters your face, or wearing a power suit instead of a sweat suit when you go conquer other companies. It doesn't really change who you are or what you look like, it's just a little personal maintenance that can help you give a strong impression. If you really are okay with it, I'll just pluck a dozen hairs or so."

"I really am okay with it. I think."

This time, amusement is clearly audible in Minseok’s hum. "Hold still, but yell if you want—Baekhyun always deafens me whenever I do his."

Jongdae scoffs. How bad could it be, really?

When it's over, a scrunch-faced Minseok informs him he's even louder than Baekhyun. Jongdae’s not sure whether he's proud or embarrassed.

At least he can easily stand up afterwards without a bulge in his board shorts.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

Jongdae gives himself a passing grade in Make-Believe for the morning's laughing beach selfies and his assisted coordination of glamor shots of their fancy brunch. The afternoon tests his skill at playing the supportive, reassuring husband, though, because it turns out that Minseok really is quite phobic of the deep sea.

"I fucking hate this," he hisses as he buckles a life jacket tightly around his torso with shaking fingers. "I should have just gone to prison."

"Oh, come on, surely it's better than prison, if only because it'll be over sooner," Jongdae says, trying to keep his tone light and playful.

"It'll be over 'cuz I'll be a bloated corpse at the bottom of the sea."

"Min," Jongdae chuckles, adopting the nickname his friends use with him in public. Seems fitting his husband should use it in public, too, and it’s a nice compromise between the name the public knows him by and the one Jongdae had been given permission to use. "Min, you aren't going to drown."

"I  _ know _ that, but I'm too dumb to actually  _ believe _ that," Minseok mutters, scowling at the buckles of his vest.

"You're not dumb," Jongdae says. "You think so quickly on your feet, you're so good at acting naturally no matter what happens. And all that stuff you had to remember for your runway walks—is it always like that?"

Minseok nods.

"Nobody who was actually dumb could be so good at that like you are. You were perfect. You figured out the terrifying coffee machine in our kitchen without making it explode or anything. And you're so knowledgeable about all this beauty stuff—you didn't have to look up YouTube videos to fix my brows, and I definitely had to watch a few to learn to wash my own face properly, at the age of twenty-seven."

Minseok lifts his gaze from the still, green surface of the ocean to stare at Jongdae instead, and Jongdae wants to do a little victory dance. Distraction: success, just in time for the speedboat they're in to pull away from the pier.

"You’re, like, one of the most successful business dudes—how are you also lacking so many basic self-care skills? Are you sure you’re not an alien or something? Or were you just raised by robots?”

“Something like that,” Jongdae laughs, thinking his parents would  _ not _ find the comparison as amusing.

Minseok laughs, too, but then their speedboat hits another boat’s lingering wake, making it skip a little, rocking enough to throw Minseok’s body against Jongdae and Minseok’s eyes back to the surf below them.

“You’ll be fine,” Jongdae assures him, taking the liberty of rubbing at a tense shoulder. “This is just, like, a runway walk on water. It’s uncomfortable, sure, but temporary, and if you need to pee in the middle of it, I’m certainly not going to judge.”

Minseok snorts.

“And look at all these fit people, with their official T-shirts on and everything. They know we’re recording our runs, so they’re definitely not going to let you drown on camera. They’d rescue you so fast, and then play it back in slow motion, probably add sparkly glitter effects, the works.”

This earns half a smile. “Make sure it’s that one giving me mouth-to-mouth, okay?” He tilts his chin in the direction of the head instructor, a friendly guy called Changmin that has pecs for days.

“I promise,” Jongdae agrees with a grin. “Now, go out there and be photogenically distressed.”

“Yes, Mister Director.” Minseok salutes, then lets Changmin go over the basics with him, asking wide-eyed questions that may or may not have more to do with flirting than fully understanding what he’s about to attempt.

Jongdae just smiles at the pair. If Minseok is having even close to a good time, he’s happy to let him. His smile broadens at the thought that few men in the world would be relieved watching their brand new spouse feeling relaxed enough to flirt with another man, but whatever. How can Jongdae be jealous over what he doesn’t have? He’s not even envious—he’s had those big kitten eyes pointed at him point-blank, and as he’s the one who’ll be in the water after Minseok, he doesn’t need any cardiac issues just beforehand.

Their marriage is a sham, but perhaps they’re on their way to something like a friendship. Or at least, they might have been, if Minseok’s ‘photogenic distress’ hadn’t been quite so heavy on the distress. And if Jongdae hadn’t followed that by turning out to be surprisingly good at waterskiing. As in, hold-his-own-selfie-stick-in-his-free-hand-and-film-himself-for-a-whole-three-minutes-before-eating-towrope good.

“I hate you so much,” Minseok informs him as they’re toweling off.

“But isn’t this good footage for your channel or whatever? To show off how, I dunno, competent and sportsy your husband is?”

Minseok’s growl only deepens. “…Actually, yes. My followers will adore you. Even more than they already do.”

Jongdae scrambles to pull the terrycloth away from his eyes so he can attempt to determine how serious his husband is being. “Really? So it’s not that bad for you, then, having to put me on your page all the time?”

Minseok gives him a funny look. “Of course not. Now come over here and comfort your poor traumatized spouse where we can get the speedboat in the background. They’ll all swoon hard enough to make the planet wobble.”

Jongdae feels like the one about to be traumatized, but he dutifully wraps his arm around Minseok, who huddles against his chest in a way Jongdae would have sworn they were too close in height for him to be able to actually do. He holds the selfie stick in his free hand, following Minseok’s instructions to get the best angle.

“Now kiss my hair.”

Jongdae obeys, trying not to enjoy the scent of salt overlying the lingering aroma of Minseok’s shampoo.

“Perfect,” Minseok says, triggering the camera to count down. He juts his lips into an exaggerated pout, ducking his chin so he’s all big-eyed vulnerability, pressed up against his ‘sportsy’ new husband. 

The camera clicks, and Minseok shrugs off Jongdae’s arm, reaching for the camera. He nods in satisfaction, poking at the screen to adjust the shading or whatever before he posts it.

“Pristin cosmetics will be thrilled,” he murmurs at the screen. “They weren’t lying about how waterproof their liner and mascara are, and they certainly can’t complain about the dramatic way we proved it.”

Jongdae bends toward the screen. He’d been more worried about getting a good angle before, but now that he’s paying attention, he can definitely see how an advertiser would love the shot. Their face creams and Minseok’s eyeshadow have been lost to the waves, but they both still have emo-rockstar eyes.

“I actually look pretty good,” Jongdae chuckles. “I mean, you do, too, of course, but eyeliner seems to suit me.”

“Everyone with eyes looks good in eyeliner,” Minseok says. “Even just a thin line makes the eyes stand out so much more, makes your gaze more compelling. People who don’t like a full face of makeup—men included—should still at least try eyeliner at some point.”

“Well, I’m certainly a convert,” Jongdae smiles. “Guess I’ll be watching more YouTube videos to learn how to do it without looking like a clown.”

“Or you could just have the professional you live with put it on for you,” Minseok says. “Presumably anywhere you’d be wearing liner, I’d be accompanying you, so I’d definitely be around. Unless you’re planning to start wearing it to work.”

“Hmm… I’d have to think about that,” Jongdae says. Part of him thinks it might actually give him an advantage in some negotiations, to have particularly mesmerizing eyes. But the other part, the fearful part, says that as the board barely accepts him marrying another man, they probably would have  _ opinions _ if Jongdae started wearing noticeable makeup.

He accepts Minseok’s hand to hold as they thank Changmin and his crew for taking good care of them and helping them make vivid memories. The waterskiing was a lot of fun, but the most embedded of the memories in Jongdae’s mind is the one where his ridiculous words of reassurance had tugged a smile to Minseok’s lips.

Not a picture-perfect, practiced smile. One a little lopsided, lower lip a bit too red from being nervously chewed at.

Minseok had given Jongdae a  _ real _ smile, and now that he’s seen it once, he can’t help but want to draw it out of hiding again and again.

Which is, of course, a problem. He may be taking continuous advantage of Minseok by marrying him, but Jongdae’s the one who’s really fucked.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

That night is just as awkward as the previous. Again Minseok offers to share the oversized bed, and again Jongdae has to decline. 

Minseok arches a brow. "You really that uncomfortable with the possibility of your foot touching mine in our sleep?"

Jongdae shakes his head. "I, uh. Had so many pillows on my bed because I like to hug something in my sleep. If I don't, then I sleep like a starfish, so you'd either get smothered or jabbed."

Minseok snorts. "Why do I feel like this is the sort of thing a guy should know  _ before  _ agreeing to get married?"

Jongdae shrugs as he heads back to his nest on the sofa. "Not like it would have made a difference in our case."

Minseok still frowns at him as Jongdae shuffles away. 

_ Be careful what you wish for,  _ indeed—now that he seems to have Minseok’s gaze on him frequently, he only feels more awkward, especially given today's realization. The more Minseok looks at Jongdae, the more likely it is that he'll figure it out. And won't that just be the height of cringe? Not only to fall for someone uninterested, but for them to know, and to have to live with them anyway.

Minseok looks at him some more in the morning, humming in approval at the skincare stuff in Jongdae’s toiletry bag before smearing on more face cream.

But that's all he smears on, stepping away to apply paint and powder to his own face. 

"No selfies this morning?" Jongdae finally asks, because it sounds better than  _ why aren’t you making me prettier, too? _

"We'll take some on the way to breakfast." Minseok steps out of the bathroom, holding his hand out for Jongdae's. "Come on—they're supposed to have really fun waffle toppings, that'll be great for photos, too."

"But…" 

Jongdae feels ridiculous for lingering. His whole life, he'd never really cared much about his looks except for brotherly squabbles, teenage pimples, and remaining clean-cut and professional. He's never wanted to be pretty, never worried how he looks in photos, and now he's fighting off a pout because his fake husband hadn't put eyeliner on him for their fake photos. Does Minseok want him to look less-than, because his following likes Jongdae too much? Why does Jongdae care, considering it's Minseok’s job to look as good as possible in those photos? Nobody really cares if Jongdae looks good, so Jongdae tells himself he doesn't care, either. 

But Minseok, for all he casually refers to himself as such, isn't dumb. And now that he’s looking at Jongdae all the time, he actually  _ sees _ him, which bodes poorly for Jongdae’s attempts to keep his feelings to himself.

"Dae, do you want a little more makeup?"

"No, it's fine, I mean. You're the pretty one, and you look great, as always." Jongdae spreads a smile over his face that definitely isn't the baby-animal one but hopefully doesn't look forced.

Minseok frowns. "I really want to kick your brother in the crotch."

Jongdae’s smile dissolves. "What? Why?"

"Because he's a dick to you. Seriously, who calls a guy ugly at his own wedding, when he's wearing the snazziest getup he'll probably ever wear?"

"He didn't call me ugly. He just teases me, you know. Because I'm the baby, and a little spoiled."

Minseok narrows his eyes, then sighs. "Kicking him is probably against the damn contract, so I'm just gonna have to lecture you instead."

He steps closer, until all Jongdae can see are large, perfectly-lined eyes staring directly into his soul. 

"Kim Jongdae, you are a very attractive man. I told you, I only need to put anything on your face to protect it from the sun and keep the direct light from washing you out in photos. You already look great, okay?"

_ But the stylists always use a lot more. But we both had eyeliner yesterday. But you have gold on your cheeks and eyelids and—  _

"I wish I could just do the same for myself, but a guy’s gotta pay the bills. These companies pay for me to wear their stuff in my photos, that's why we had waterproof eyeliner yesterday, remember?"

He leans in and presses a quick kiss to the hair over Jongdae’s temple. 

"Now come on, my handsome husband—I don't get to cheat on my diet very often, so I can't wait to demolish a stack of waffles. Do you think they have mocha topping? Or strawberry? I'm sure they have strawberry."

Dumbstruck, Jongdae allows himself to be led off by the hand. Minseok starts some kind of live viewing session, continuing to chatter excitedly about waffle toppings and his face is so expressive. Jongdae’s sure he’s put the makeup on in a way that emphasizes it, it's all for the camera just like everything else he does with Jongdae. Jongdae knows it's all artifice, but that doesn't make it any less effective. 

Minseok’s laugh brings Jongdae’s attention from his face in the selfie screen to the mirth in the eyes right next to him.

"Why are you looking at me like that, babe? Viewers will think I married a happy zombie."

Jongdae feels himself blush, but he can't help but smile wider. "Sorry, love. You're just really cute when you get all excited. It's mesmerizing."

"Aww, babe!"

Minseok presses close and nuzzles Jongdae’s cheek while he makes the sort of squeaky noises usually earned by tiny bunnies or something. 

"He's the cute one, isn't he, viewers? Such a sweetheart."

He gives Jongdae’s cheek a big smacky kiss, and Jongdae’s tight throat combines with his fluster to turn his self-conscious laugh into something dangerously close to a giggle. Minseok coos at him a little more, then says goodbye to his viewers. Jongdae waves at the camera when prompted, feeling the knot between his shoulders loosen when Minseok turns it off.

But he doesn’t turn off his smile. In fact, he brings out the real one again, not as a reflex under heightened emotion like on the speedboat, but a relaxed version, one that shows his gums, one that makes Jongdae’s heart do a little tap dance in his chest. 

"You are really good at being absolutely adorable. Makes it easy for everyone to love you."

And before Jongdae can decide just what Minseok could mean by that, they're in front of the waffle place. Shortly thereafter, Jongdae learns that Minseok, genuinely enjoying a meal, without a camera on him, is still another level of cute.

"Shouldn't we be filming this, too?" Jongdae asks, grinning because it's impossible not to when Minseok makes little scrunchy faces and hums of delight. 

"Unh-unh," Minseok says around a mouthful of waffle. "They’re not entitled to every highlight of my life. Some moments I get to enjoy without them, just for myself to treasure. And this breakfast with you is one of them."

Jongdae puts another chunk of waffle in his own mouth, to keep him from either gaping or saying something stupid.

"You have a little—"

Minseok’s thumb floats across the table to swipe at the corner of Jongdae’s mouth. It comes away with a smear of whipped cream. Jongdae’s about to thank him, except that Minseok then licks the stray whipped cream off of his thumb.

Jongdae takes desperate pulls of his iced mocha. He needs the caffeine to wake him up and provide a little clarity as to  _ what the actual fuck _ is going on with Minseok today. 

#  ꘏꘏꘏

"I'm sorry," Minseok says as they stroll down the boardwalk after breakfast, on the way to their horseback riding session.

"For what?"

"I put you on the spot with the live broadcast, and at breakfast I was a little… extra. I keep forgetting."

"Forgetting what?" Jongdae laughs. "I honestly don't mind. I'm surprised sometimes, because I haven't really done a lot of dating or couple-y things. I'm sorry if I'm not reacting quickly enough."

"No, you're pretty much perfect," Minseok assures him. He mumbles something that sounds almost like, "and that's the problem."

Before Jongdae can ask what he means by that, they crest a little rise and suddenly the stableyard is visible. Minseok whips out the camera again, charisma turned up to eleven as he charms the caretakers and the horses, takes photos, even subjects one of the horses to an interview holding a carrot as a microphone (which his subject promptly eats). Jongdae plays cameraman for this, suppressing his laughter as the horse chews placidly in the face of Minseok’s playful scolding, then nudges at his shoulder, as if to ask where more treats are.

"We've been trending all day, even with the time zone difference," Minseok tells Jongdae, as if that’s supposed to be a meaningful statement.

"Good?" Jongdae tries. 

"Great," Minseok says. "And they're gonna love this interview with Rocky."

"It was really cute."

"But so are you," Minseok counters with a smile, prodding him to go stand beside the horse the caretakers lead out for him. "My prince on a white horse."

"It's sorta tannish, actually," Jongdae says, but he smiles and poses as directed. 

Their helmet cams capture the scenic beauty of the ride, or at least, they're supposed to. Minseok laughs as he plays Jongdae’s back and discovers that the footage is 20 percent scenery, 80 percent Minseok.

Then Jongdae gets to laugh when Minseok’s ratio of scenery to Jongdae isn't much better. 

"Yeah, okay, we're a couple of saps," Minseok chuckles. "You just have a really endearing smile—it's nice to see you having a good time, despite everything."

"See, I told you it could be fun. The only thing that wasn't fun so far was watching you hyperventilate while attempting to waterski."

"And sleeping on the couch on your own honeymoon."

Jongdae shakes his head. "It's actually really comfortable for me. And much more comfortable for you not to wake up with strange bruises or someone using you to practice their kraken impression."

"I'll take the kraken," Minseok says. "Baek says I'm an octopus in my sleep, we could have a cuddle-duel."

Jongdae doesn’t think he’s ever winced harder in his life. "Oh, shit, Min—did this break you up? Did your ex really make a speech about how cute we were at our wedding, after this stupid contract stole you from him?"

Minseok makes an S of his spine so he can better regard Jongdae incredulously. "What? Fuck, no. What is this, some K.will video? Baek and I grew up together. We usually had the same gigs or at least gigs in the same area, so we stayed over with each other a lot, in hotels or at home. Made it easier for the staff to deliver us on set, a two-for-one deal."

"Oh. So, like a sibling." 

Jongdae can see it now. His siblings often make him want to facepalm, too, but they're still family and he loves them. They may not always seem to get along, but they take care of each other.

Minseok shrugs. "Maybe? I don't have anything to compare it to, but I'm stuck with him for life, love him even though he's obnoxious, and definitely have no desire to fuck him."

Jongdae blinks. "You have two siblings. What do you mean, you can't compare?"

Minseok shrugs again. "My brother is seven years older than me, my sister’s five years younger. We basically never saw each other, always busy with our own stuff. Even when we were all in the same place, our age gaps meant we had very few interests in common, even aside from the different career paths we'd been set on."

He gently closes Jongdae’s hanging jaw. "They seem like nice people, when I see them at holidays. My sister follows my social media, leaves hearts on a lot of my posts, but she's not very chatty in person. My brother you probably know better than I do, what with him being in finance and all."

"I've met him a few times. He seems very forthright, which I imagine is a valued trait in someone entrusted to handle large amounts of money."

"I'll take your word for it." Minseok shades his eyes with his hand. "Is that a spa over there? That could be relaxing. I'm not allowed to risk my face with treatments anywhere beside my dermatologist, but i wonder if they have any bodywork packages?"

"Bodywork?"

"Yeah, you know, massages, exfoliating scrubs, waxing—"

"What, like, the whole body?"

Minseok nods. A rather impish smirk settles over his lips. "It's quite invigorating. Good for the blood flow. When it's all done, I feel like I'm newly born."

"No," Jongdae says. "Not the  _ whole _ body."

Minseok’s smirk broadens into that lopsided smile. "Newly. Born."

He cackles at whatever horrified face Jongdae is making. "I think I'd enjoy that sensation again," he decides. "Being that smooth would feel nice in this weather."

He starts walking toward the spa, almost as enthusiastic as he'd been for that morning's waffles. "Aren't you coming?" he asks over his shoulder.

"Uh. Do I have to?"

Minseok turns around, hands on his fashionably-dressed hips. "You know what? Yes. Yes, you do. Yesterday I suffered while you did perfectly fine, today it's your turn to scream for the viewers."

Stifling a whine, Jongdae follows his evidently vengeful husband to his doom.

"Just my legs, though, okay?"

Minseok tuts. "I mean, I can't actually force you…"

"You're not gonna take photos of my junk for social media, though!" Jongdae points out, in a businesslike, definitely-not-whiny tone. "Why wax what no one’s ever going to see?”

Minseok stops so abruptly that Jongdae almost bumps into him. "Oh. Well, if that’s really how you want it."

"I just… I mean…" Jongdae deflates, balloon of indignation punctured by Minseok’s carefully-casual tone. "You’re right. It's only fair. You put up with far worse in the name of beauty, I'm sure. Your viewers really would love seeing me suffer a bit, to properly appreciate a model's life, right? Like, walk a mile in your waxed legs or whatever."

Minseok turns to arch a brow at him. “And then you’re gonna, what, make me go to boring meetings or whatever it is you actually do all day?”

Jongdae grins. “I would love to see you do my job. Those crusty execs would be absolutely dumbstruck if you strode into the boardroom and, I dunno, did aegyo whines for them to sign over their company.”

“My specialty is cutie-sexy,” Minseok says, lacing his fingers with Jongdae’s before resuming his stroll toward the spa. “I like giving people whiplash between cooing at me and drooling over me. So it would be aegyo pleading followed by seductive coaxing.”

Jongdae laughs so hard he has to stop and bend over to catch his breath. “Oh my god, that mental picture!” he wheezes. “I actually think a few would have heart attacks.”

“Then I’d better not. I just managed not to end up in jail, probably shouldn’t push my luck.”

The laughter tangles in Jongdae’s throat, amusement replaced with caution. “Speaking of… is there anything I should watch for when we’re at the bar later? I mean. I assume you aren’t just breaking faces for fun. But I’d rather not find out what international detainment is like, so is there, like, some way I can intervene if some asshole starts shit with you or whatever? Of course if anyone swings at you, I’d do my best to back you up, but I’m much better with words than with fists, so talking our way out would really be best.”

Minseok stares at him, eyes wide and expression unreadable. He blinks, and Jongdae does, too, almost as of he were unable to until released, however briefly, from the direct eye contact. 

"Why don't you think I started it?" Minseok asks. "Didn't you read the police reports?"

Jongdae shakes his head. "My brother gave me the gist of your history with brawling, but I saw the mug shot in the news. At the time I thought you were just drunk and rowdy, but when I heard you'd taken on four guys and only had some bruises to show for it, I knew you couldn't have been very drunk. And now that I know how seriously you take your career, I'm sure you wouldn't have risked your perfect nose being broken without a good reason. If I know that reason, maybe I can try to help prevent it." 

Minseok’s lip curls.

"Not that you need my help," Jongdae hastens to add. "As I said, I'm not much of a fighter, and you can obviously handle yourself. But, well. I know this isn't the marriage you'd have chosen, if you even chose to marry at all, but, well, we're still kind of partners, now, right? I mean the business kind, of course, but still. If there's a way I can help you with anything, I will do my best."

Minseok’s face goes blank and Jongdae’s heart falls. “I-I mean, if you don’t wanna talk about it—”

“Why ruin our lovely day with heavy talk?” Minseok says, photogenic smile in place. He reaches for Jongdae’s hand. “Come on, partner, let’s get this business over with, hmm?”

Jongdae lets himself be led away, mouth firmly shut and discontentment bubbling in his gut. Talking to people, building rapport, and being accommodating are literally his job, yet somehow with Minseok, Jongdae seems to get it wrong as often as he gets it right.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

Jongdae can’t keep his mouth shut once they’re inside the spa, though. More specifically, once he’s behind the privacy curtain with a tan, toned guy who smiles politely as he arranges Jongdae on his waxing table. He speaks no Korean, of course, and Jongdae’s customer-service English is rusty at best.  _ This merger will benefit both our companies, _ sure. Technical business jargon? Absolutely.  _ What’s that green viscous stuff in that crock pot over there, and are you gonna put it on my nutsack, _ not so much.

“Pants off,” Jongdae does understand.

“Already?” he asks, giving his best please-take-care-of-me smile.

“Groin first,” the man says.

“Surely we can save that for last?”

“Groin first,” he insists. “Otherwise you quit. Groin now, the rest is easy.”

“You make a solid point,” Jongdae concedes.

He takes off his pants. He holds his own body parts to keep the working area clear and the affected skin taut. The green goo turns out to be some kind of melted wax, which gets smeared on his tender flesh in stripes. It hardens almost immediately, and is abruptly yanked away, taking sections of body hair with it. Along with the entirety of Jongdae’s dignity.

Minseok had disappeared behind a different curtain several minutes before Jongdae’s licensed aesthetic torturer was ready for him. Jongdae had heard some light conversation between a bit of hissing. Jongdae does not hiss. Jongdae screams.

And Minseok, that sadistic little bastard, laughs.

They settle into a sort of rhythm, and it actually makes it a bit more bearable somehow. It’s predictable, and Jongdae can at least catch his breath before one scream and the next. It goes a little something like: Minseok hisses. Jongdae screams. Minseok laughs, which is cut off by another hiss. Jongdae gets three milliseconds of serves-you-right-you-jerk before he screams again. And the cycle repeats.

When it’s over, Jongdae does indeed feel newly born: nude, skin ruddy, with tears staining his cheeks.

“You swim very fast now,” the smiling technician promises him. “Like a dolphin.”

Jongdae thanks him, and neglects to inform him that he can barely dog-paddle.

Minseok is waiting for him, wearing all his clothes and a wide smile. He holds an arm out for Jongdae, who suddenly understands exactly how Minseok had crumpled into his chest the day before. In what Jongdae’s sure is deliberate mirroring, Minseok holds him close, kisses his hair, and captures Jongdae’s thousand-yard stare for his following.

“I hate you,” Jongdae hisses against Minseok’s tropical-themed silk shirt. “You have terrible ideas.”

“I have great ideas, and you won’t hate me later when you feel how nice everything feels against your smooth skin.” He rubs Jongdae’s shoulder, snorting down at his phone. “Baek already wants to know when your nude photospread will be released.”

“The fifth quarter of the year twenty-never,” Jongdae mumbles.

“He’ll be so disappointed.”

“He’ll live.”

“And so did you!” Minseok coos. “My poor suffering babe. Would you feel better if I bought you some ice cream?”

Jongdae straightens his spine. “Ice cream?”

Minseok grins at him, the lopsided one, and Jongdae’s ready to endure it all again.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

On the way to the ice cream parlor, they stroll past all the little booths and shops along the boardwalk. A lot of them are overflowing with cheap plastic tourist junk, but there are several with local handcrafts, jewelry, utensils, and accessories. Minseok lingers at one cart with colorful woven bracelets, giving Jongdae an oddly-twisted smile before letting the one he was looking at slip through his fingers.

He pulls Jongdae away, but after a dozen steps, Jongdae twists free. “I think I left my sunglasses at the spa,” he says. “You go on ahead, I’ll catch up.”

Minseok rolls his eyes but nods. “What should I order for you?”

“I dunno. Something chocolate? Surprise me.”

He doesn’t wait for more huffing but turns and darts through the crowd back the way they’d come. For a moment, he’s afraid he won’t be able to find the right booth again, but he does, and the bracelet Minseok had handled is still there. Jongdae buys it without bothering to haggle, heart hammering with relief.

Evidently pleased at his generosity, the vendor tries to package up two bracelets, but Jongdae waves her off. His brother is always looking to conserve every won, but Jongdae sees no reason to take advantage of this woman. She may be living hand-to-mouth or she may be making an absolute killing from the rivers of tourists, but Jongdae doesn’t care if she’s potentially ripping him off. He’s just happy to be able to give Minseok an actual present, one he’s confident he’ll like.

He tucks the little eco-cardboard box securely into the cargo pocket of his trunks and hurries back to his husband, heart lighter than it’s been since Minseok had laid eyes on the house of aesthetic torture. 

Ice cream was evidently a popular idea, because Minseok is still in line when Jongdae finds him. He's chatting with a trio of giggling girls, all of whom are quite obviously eying him up. One of them is bold enough to rest her hand on his forearm as she laughs at something Minseok says, and Jongdae’s across the floor and wrapping his arms around his husband before he makes the conscious decision to do so.

Minseok jumps slightly when Jongdae presses up behind him, turning just far enough to see who's there before relaxing into Jongdae’s arms with a contented little purr. Jongdae’s not sure what reaction he was expecting, but based on his own surprise, it was evidently not that.

But this is public, after all. Of course Minseok will play along.

"Ah, here he is," Minseok says in English. "He's very cute, right?"

The girls titter in agreement. Minseok tilts his cheek toward his shoulder, almost like he's presenting it. So Jongdae presses his lips against it, earning another happy little sound.

"Find your sunglasses, babe?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah." Jongdae gives in to the urge to nuzzle the soft skin of Minseok’s neck. This is their honeymoon, and they have an audience. He's supposed to be infatuated as far as the world is concerned. No one has to know exactly how much Jongdae’s stomach leaps at the feel of the solid body in his arms, at the scent of Minseok’s skin.

Minseok chuckles before gently pulling away. "Better get you some ice cream before you start licking me instead."

"Sorry."

Jongdae feels himself blush as the girls titter. Both blushing and tittering increase as Minseok presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, pulling away to smile at him with soft eyes.

"I'm glad you made it back in time to order—they have six different chocolatey flavors, so I was just asking these ladies which one I should get."

He turns back to the girls, one of whom guiltily points her phone cam at the floor. "Chocolate fudge ripple, right?" he pronounces carefully. 

They nod, the only motion they seem capable of making, eyes wide and shiny as Minseok smiles his thanks directly at them. Jongdae knows the feeling. 

The line moves forward, carrying them along before pausing again. Jongdae boldly drapes his arm around Minseok’s shoulders as he peruses the menu board posted high on the wall above the counter. He tells himself it's to keep up the act and to know when the line moves again, since he has to concentrate to make sense of the less familiar alphabet (not to mention all the enthusiastic flavor words that aren't generally part of business or even conversational vocabulary). He doesn't want to be left standing there like a dope as the line advances without him, and if he’s connected to Minseok, he'll notice when he moves up. 

When Minseok shifts his weight to lean into the half-embrace, head dropping back to rest on Jongdae’s shoulder, Jongdae has to admit to himself that this was a terrible idea. Minseok is too good at playing along, and Jongdae isn't good at all at separating action from emotion. 

The three girls—Amanda, Charlotte, and Emma, on vacation from the UK—sit with them as they enjoy their ice cream, trading small talk and giggling at the innocently salacious way Minseok licks at his white chocolate blueberry cone. Jongdae would have thought it impossible to eat chocolate ice cream sexily, but Minseok insists on switching cones for a few licks and thoroughly proves him wrong.

The girls are friendly and polite, but Jongdae can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when they part ways, Minseok leading Jongdae by the hand as they head to their next photogenic activity. 

"Why so tense around women, Dae?" Minseok laughs. "I promise to chase them off if they try to steal you from me."

"It's not women, it's just an audience," Jongdae says. "We don't have to perform when we're alone."

"Who says I was performing?" Minseok asks. "Maybe I just like flustering you for my own enjoyment.”

Jongdae feels his cheeks heat more than the afternoon sun warrants. “Yeah. Well. You’re certainly good at it.”

Minseok chuckles at this, but Jongdae can’t be too annoyed. Not when Minseok’s fingers are twined with his, the sun is gilding his skin, and his smile is warmer than the weathered wood beneath their sandals. It would be perfect, if only it were real.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

Their afternoon activity flies by in a whirl of over-magnified sensations. They’re meant to be learning to make ‘beach pizza’ but all the pair of them seem capable of making together is a mess. The instructor, a smiley Australian with a mustache worthy of Mario, is always at their station, straightening them out while they smother self-conscious laughter.

It doesn’t help that they keep interrupting their attempts at following the recipe with taking selfies, nor that these selfies seem to involve flour-smeared cheeks, gooey dough-covered fingers, and/or pepperoni ‘monocles.’ 

They do eventually get their dough spread out on their wooden board, add sauce and cheese, and commence a scene that would convince onlookers they’d been married for years: arguing over toppings.

“We’re in Fiji! We have to put pineapple.”

“I don’t think pineapple is even native to Fiji.”

“But it’s beachy! And it’s delicious.” Minseok blinks big kitty eyes at Jongdae.

Jongdae only curls a lip. “I feel like this is a more important thing to know before marriage than a guy’s sleeping habits.”

“If you don’t like the same toppings, you can put half on one side, half on the other,” the instructor suggests, not needing to understand Korean to get the gist of the bickering.

Minseok and Jongdae look at each other, then immediately get to work claiming their half of the pizza with their chosen toppings, which involves a lot of hip-checking and sneaking of toppings into each other’s territory. The instructor only laughs, then offers them both a beer as they wait for the pizza to bake along with the rest of the class.

It turns out to be surprisingly tasty, given how often they’d screwed up the instructions. It’s rather lumpy and misshapen, and there are definitely hidden pineapple land mines on more than a few of Jongdae’s slices. But it tastes earthy and a bit sweet, the yeastiness of the dough going well with the fizzy Australian beer.

“See? It was all worth it in the end, right?” the instructor says, smile wide as Jongdae and Minseok hum happily around their slices. “It doesn’t have to be perfect to be worth savoring. And compromise is a beautiful thing.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jongdae sees Minseok flick his gaze to Jongdae and away again before scooting a little closer, thighs pressed together beneath the table. Jongdae admonishes his heart for skipping a beat at this obvious demonstration of chastisement for the paternal instructor. His heart ignores him, and so do his fingers, which pluck a piece of pineapple from one of Jongdae’s slices and cheekily pop it into Minseok’s mouth instead of throwing it at him or something.

Minseok smiles and leans against Jongdae’s shoulder as he takes another swig of beer. Jongdae’s dumb heart is as melted as pizza cheese.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

When their bellies are full of pizza and the mess has been all cleared away (a process Minseok was more than happy to assist with in apology for making much of it), the instructor invites the class to the local bar to keep the good times going. Jongdae’s a bit nervous, based on his unanswered inquiries as to what might set Minseok off, but Minseok is so sweetly excited, how is Jongdae going to do anything but smile and go along?

It starts out absolutely fine. The others in their class—a handful of couples from all around the world—all have English as their only common language, and in some cases it’s only rudimentary at best. Still, they can communicate well enough to do things like teach each other the traditional toast of their own country, then jovially butcher the foreign pronunciation as they clink beer bottles together. 

They see the trio of British girls from the ice cream parlor, and Minseok waves them over, buying them cute umbrella drinks and making sure they have a place to sit. They move on from toasts to drinking songs, and Jongdae learns that Minseok, while comically fuzzy on the lyrics, is quick to pick up a tune and happy to set aside his dignity in the pursuit of entertainment.

His efforts to sing in French in particular have the couple from Paris laughing uncontrollably, and Minseok gives them a playfully accusing glare.

“I am a good boy,” he tells them in their shared language. “Are you making me to sing swears?”

They deny this animatedly, coaxing him to give it another go by replacing his empty bottle with a full one. It becomes more than a little chaotic after that, and Jongdae learns that he can’t keep up with his husband drink-for-drink and still remain close to coherent. He starts alternating his beers with water and attempting to get Minseok to do the same even though he still seems just as happily tipsy as he’d been an hour ago.

But one of the British girls—Charlotte, Jongdae thinks—is handling her alcohol much more poorly than Jongdae, or either of her friends, for that matter. They’ve all had the same amount to drink, all are similarly tiny, but Charlotte is barely able to keep herself upright on the end of the booth.

“Maybe you should take her home,” Jongdae suggests to her friends, who blink at him, then blink at Charlotte as if seeing her for the first time.

“Charlie?” The blonde one—Emma—shakes her, and Charlotte almost slides right out of the booth—and into a smiling man’s arms.

“I’ll help,” the man says. He’s tall and handsome and dressed rather like Jongdae’s impression of ‘rich yacht owner’ from their engagement photos, and his smile has way too many teeth.

Jongdae promptly learns two things that will stick in his mind forever despite the amount of alcohol he’s consumed.

First, if their cooking instructor is anything to go by, Australians are all fun and games until their switch is flipped, and then they’re fucking terrifying. On the higher end of alcohol-tolerant compared to most of their group, he’s sober enough to catch on to what’s happening right away. His accusation of, “You fucking drugged her, ya shitcunt!” is loud enough for the entire bar to hear, and he has the now-unsmiling man pinned up against a wall before Jongdae quite realizes what’s happening.

But that’s mostly because of important discovery number two: what had likely prompted his husband to attempt very seriously to bash a man’s face into pulp against a bartop. If Jongdae had thought Minseok an angry tiger the night Jongdae turned him down, that’s nothing to the absolutely searing rage now reflected in those big feline eyes.

He catches Minseok around the waist as he tries to surge up out of the booth, unable to stop him but doing his best to direct his momentum into a less confrontational direction. “Super Mario’s got that guy handled, Min. But our ice cream friends could use some help right now.”

Minseok growls hard enough for Jongdae to feel it through the ribs his arms are wrapped around. But he lets himself be steered toward the trio of girls, one semi-conscious, two alarmed, all three incoherent. The Frenchwoman is supporting Charlotte as her husband makes a phone call, hopefully for some kind of medical help. Minseok spreads his arms for Emma and Amanda to huddle beneath like baby chicks, still growling enough that Jongdae feels it unwise to let go of his waist.

One of the barmen is there with some kind of kit, dipping a strip into the glass her friends say Charlotte was drinking from. It turns blue after a moment, and the bartender swears. Emma and Amanda start whimpering again, each holding one of Charlotte’s limp hands as the Frenchwoman murmurs to them comfortingly. Minseok keeps his arms around them, and Jongdae keeps his arms around Minseok, buzz disappearing in the tide of adrenaline now pumping through him.

Then the police are there, photographing the glass and the blue strip and the huddled group and whatever else. They’re accompanied by a uniformed woman with both a flame and a red cross embroidered over her sleeves. She’s got a stethoscope and a blood pressure cuff in her bag, and she checks Charlotte over. Jongdae doesn’t try to make sense of any of the medical mumbling she’s doing with the cops, but he does catch when she eventually assures her friends that Charlotte should be fine after some supervised rest.

As one, the concerned cluster relaxes.

The sleazy man is rescued from the Australian’s ungentle hold and led away in handcuffs, to the jeers of the bar patrons. The medical woman offers to drive the girls somewhere and stay with them for a while, and they gratefully accept. They give Minseok and Jongdae squeezing hugs before they go, following the cop carrying their friend to the police vehicle. The bar erupts in cheers of encouragement that follow them out, Minseok leaning back into Jongdae’s embrace as he shouts his own wishes for Charlotte to recover safely.

“Take me for a walk,” Minseok requests, tilting his head back to look at Jongdae. 

He’s clearly still upset, as are most of the rest of the patrons, if the restless murmurs around them are any indication. Jongdae hates it, and he leans forward to kiss Minseok’s upturned cheek without thinking, as if that would somehow help instead of just creep him out.

“Sorry,” he says when Minseok twists to look at him questioningly. “Of course we can go walk.”

They bid subdued goodbyes to their cooking friends, exchanging sober handshakes and head nods with the instructor. Then Jongdae leads Minseok somewhere for once, because he hadn’t said  _ come for a walk with me, _ he’d said  _ take me for a walk. _ It’s more than a little unsettling, because Minseok, for all that he submits to whatever outfit or makeup the stylists impose on him, for all that he accepts direction from photographers and runway coordinators, has never in the admittedly-limited time Jongdae’s known him, actually  _ surrendered. _

So it’s rather eerie to have Minseok trailing along behind him, so much so that Jongdae switches his grip on Minseok’s fingers from his left hand to his right. This way he can wrap his left arm around Minseok’s shoulders and walk beside him, steering him around broken boards and puddles of questionable liquid until they’re off the boardwalk and walking through the cooling sand of the moonlit beach.

“We found her in the men's room. The night I was arrested,” Minseok murmurs just loud enough to be heard over the lapping of the waves. “She was barely conscious, obviously underage. Baek stayed with her, called an ambulance, and I went out to find the guy who’d left the bathroom just as Baek and I went in.”

He stops, lifting his face to allow the rage in his eyes to glimmer darkly in the reflected light from the sea. “He fucking laughed at me, Dae. Told me to quit making a fuss, just go back and take advantage of his ‘generosity’ in leaving her there for the next guy after he’d ‘done all the work.’ I told him he was scum, and he just shrugged, looked me up and down, and said, ‘I’m just having a good time. What are  _ you _ gonna do about it?’”

Jongdae has to consciously unclench his jaw before he can speak. “I’d have tried to smash the smirk off his face, too. But why did  _ you _ get arrested, and not him?”

Minseok’s growl rumbles right from his chest into Jongdae’s. “Because she’s a minor. Her parents wanted everything covered up, didn’t want anything on the record that might expose that she’d been badly used, didn’t even want their daughter to remember any of it. So they didn’t press charges, didn’t want anything in the press, didn’t even let the hospital treat her for anything except ‘dehydration.’ Without a victim, there’s no crime, and nobody actually saw the fucker do anything to her anyway. What they  _ did _ see was my attempt to smear him into paste, and he was all too willing to press charges in revenge for having his ass handed to him by a ‘tiny little makeup fag.’”

Jongdae snorts, but he also wraps both arms around Minseok, knowing a hug from the stranger he was forced to marry probably isn’t enough to let the rage drain away again like a wave returning to the sea. But it does seem to help at least a little, because Minseok huffs and lets himself be held, hooking his chin over Jongdae’s shoulder and slumping to allow Jongdae to take some of his weight.

“You have such a good heart,” Jongdae murmurs. “I’m sorry you were punished for it.”

In his arms, Minseok shrugs. “Her dad gave me a 90-degree bow when I was in the back of the cop car, so that’s something, at least. And my ‘punishment’ is you, which is turning out to be the opposite of punishing, so.”

It’s probably the wrong moment to grin, so Jongdae’s glad Minseok can’t see the expression he’s making. “Yeah? Being stuck with me’s not so bad?”

Minseok pulls away enough to curl a lip at him. “Well. You are an uncultured swine that can’t appreciate the merits of tropical fruit, but I guess I can tolerate your sad palate.” 

“Hey! I love tropical fruit! Just not violating the sanctity of my pizza.”

“Sanctity?” Minseok laughs, lacing his fingers with Jongdae’s as they start down the beach toward their cabin. “To who? Our Lady of Pepperoni?”

“Yes,” Jongdae sniffs. “It’s in the ten pizza commandments: thou shalt not tainteth thine cheese with fruitstuffs.”

Minseok’s reaction to this is nothing short of delightful. With his hair glazed silver by the moon and dancing eyes fastened directly on him, Jongdae is more than willing to build an entire religion around making Minseok laugh.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

It’s not until Minseok’s frowning at his own collection of jewelry the next morning that Jongdae remembers his little gift. For a moment, he quails, because the little bracelet isn’t anywhere near as fashionable as what Minseok already owns, but then he remembers that it had been Minseok who’d been drawn to the bracelet in the first place.

“Uh, if you can’t decide what to wear, maybe this will help?” Jongdae offers along with the simple paper box.

Minseok’s brow furrows, but he takes the box, lifting the lid to blink at what’s inside. The look of delight that washes over his entire body as he removes the bracelet is like hearing an angelic choir—except then it’s replaced with a furrowed brow. Minseok turns the box over, looks in the lid, then looks up at Jongdae, bafflement all over his gorgeous face.

“Where’s the other one?”

Jongdae’s brows mirror Minseok’s. “Other one?”

“Yeah. Are you wearing it already or?” He grabs at Jongdae’s wrists, both fully exposed by his tank top.

“Why would I wear a gift for you?” Jongdae asks, heart kicking into distress mode at the strange expression on Minseok’s face. “This is the one you liked, isn’t it?”

“It’s the style I looked at, yeah, but it wasn’t specifically the bracelet I liked.” He gives Jongdae a crooked smile, not the lopsided, relaxed one, but one it seems he needs to strain to produce. “These are supposed to be couple bracelets. That’s the part I thought would be cute.”

Jongdae feels like an idiot. No wonder the vendor had tried to give him two. “Oh,” he says, all joy in the gift deflated. “That would have been really cute for all our selfies. Maybe I can go back and—”

“It’s fine,” Minseok says, running his thumb over the silken surface of the bracelet before setting it into his jewelry case. “It was sweet of you to think of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae says, chest tight. “I’m really shit at all this relationshippy stuff. I should have asked you, or… or something. If you want to wear couple things for our pictures, we can—”

“I don’t want to wear couple things for our pictures,” Minseok assures him, closing the jewelry case and standing up to take his hand. “I’m not wearing any accessories today because we’re going in the mudbuggy, and I don’t want to have to clean them all afterward.”

“Oh,” Jongdae says as he lets himself be led off. Some of the weight lifts from his stomach. Minseok’s not rejecting Jongdae’s gift, he’s protecting it. “Right. Mud will be fun.”

Minseok snorts at his lackluster tone. “You don’t sound very excited.”

“I mean, it’s got to be better than wax, right?”

This pulls half a smile to Minseok’s lips, not the forced kind but the sort where he’s trying to suppress a bigger smile. “I don’t know… I really enjoyed the waxing. It gives me an adrenaline buzz or something, I guess.”

“Well, maybe the buggy will do the same thing.”

“Maybe.” The smile that accompanies this isn’t big, but it does seem genuine, so Jongdae’s able to produce a genuine smile of his own as Minseok arranges him by some tagimoucia flowers for the morning selfie.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

The mud buggy is fun, and, as advertised in the name, very muddy. Minseok seems to enjoy it while it’s happening, but he sighs deeply at the state of his hair and clothing when the buggy comes to a stop.

“Isn’t it good for the skin, though?” Jongdae says, wiping a smear of mud over Minseok’s cheek. “C’mon, let’s go all out for a selfie—hashtag mud mask, hashtag no filter.”

“Oh my god, Baekhyun would be so proud,” Minseok chuckles, wrinkling his nose adorably as Jongdae spreads more mud on his face. “You’ve gone from ‘What’s social media?’ to speaking in hashtags, I think you might have just converted from pizza-ism to Our Lady of Insta.”

“No way,” Jongdae says, closing his eyes so Minseok can return the muddy favor. “I still don’t  _ have _ any social media accounts, I’m just an Insta-ist by marriage.”

“But how will we raise the children?” Minseok asks, pressing his mud-sticky cheek against Jongdae’s and lifting the selfie stick.

Jongdae is so startled he forgets to smile, causing Minseok to tut and frame the shot again. “You want to have kids?” His selfie smile is a cover for the bubble of panic in his gut.

Minseok shrugs, changes the angle, dips his chin so his eyes look bigger. Jongdae hates how the image in the screen triggers his protective, possessive side even though he just watched the artifice occur.

“I don’t know about human kids yet,” Minseok says after he posts his favorite shots online. “But I was thinking maybe a cat or something?”

“I like cats,” Jongdae says, but then he forces his smile into a frown. “But they can’t have pizza, and you’re definitely gonna put our cat all over your social media, so I guess we’ll be raising it Insta-ist.”

“We can give him or her the option of converting when they’re of age to make their own choice,” Minseok says. “Compromise is beautiful, remember?”

“Yeah,” Jongdae says, staring at his mud-encrusted husband and his too-charming eyesmile. “Absolutely beautiful.”

#  ꘏꘏꘏

What isn’t beautiful is the way Minseok’s face goes blank when the mud buggy operators suggest everyone go rinse off in the ocean waves before they hit the provided showers, so as not to clog the drains.

“We’ll stay where it’s really shallow,” Jongdae says, but Minseok doesn’t give to the tug on his hand.

“I was only in it up to my knees as a kid, but a wave knocked me over and dragged me out.”

Jongdae purses his lips, electing not to point out that the sea is really calm today. “Okay, we’ll shower at home.”

“The drains, though.”

“There are only two of us, and I’ll rinse a little in the surf—I’ll stay where you can see me,” Jongdae says over Minseok’s fretful noises. He’s way too touched that Minseok’s fear has extended to him, as if he’s something he doesn’t want to lose. “I’ll stay muddy and walk with you, and just rinse the worst of it in that little cove right by our cabin. You know the water’s always calmer there, right?”

“I guess.” Minseok sounds anything but convinced, but he lets Jongdae lead him down the beach.

The walk is long enough that the late morning sun has dried most of the mud by the time they arrive at the cabin, giving Jongdae an idea.

“Rub sand on it,” he says, dropping to his knees on the beach. He scoops up a handful of sand and scrubs it over his arm, holding it up to show Minseok the resulting patch of still-dirty but uncaked skin. “Not your face, of course, but arms and legs? Then we can just shower without worrying about the drains.”

“Our hair,” Minseok says, but he follows suit, rubbing a handful of sand over his calf. Then he snorts. “Aren’t you glad now that we got waxed? This would have been awful stuck in leg hair.”

Jongdae can’t help but chuckle. “Okay, I’ll give you that—at this one moment in life, I’m glad not to have body hair.”

“Worth it,” Minseok declares, shushing all of Jongdae’s attempts to qualify his statement.

Jongdae doesn’t protest too hard, though. It is worth it, if it makes things a little easier for Minseok, even if it’s just making it easier for Minseok to tease him.

The teasing doesn’t stop when they’re inside the cabin. “Wanna just shower together?” Minseok invites with innocent eyes but a sinful quirk to his lips. “Saves water and time.”

“Min,” Jongdae whines, “don’t be cruel.”

Minseok laughs. “Why is it cruel?”

“Because. It’s like dangling steak over a dog’s head.”

“What if I’m actually offering the steak instead of teasing you with it?”

He’s standing there shedding flecks of mud and grains of sand over the bathroom tile, hair plastered to his forehead, face looking almost made of clay with the residual mud from the ‘mask.’ He’s smiling at Jongdae a little shyly, and that’s it, right there, the most beautiful thing Jongdae’s ever seen.

Jongdae can only stand there and gape.

“Well, I guess I broke you,” Minseok chuckles. “I’ll just start, and you can join me if you want, okay? Okay,” he answers himself when Jongdae doesn’t. “Good talk.”

“But why would you?” Jongdae blurts at his back.

Minseok turns to regard Jongdae over his shoulder. “Why would I, what?”

“Offer. I mean, it’s just because otherwise, it’s nothing, right? You can’t choose anyone else, so we might as well—”

There’s a flash of something tiger-sharp in Minseok’s eyes. “If that’s really what you think, then stay out.” 

More baffled than he’s ever been, Jongdae just stands there, blinking at the closed bathroom door.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

When he emerges from his own shower—cold, fittingly, since the hot water heater evidently isn’t vast—Jongdae finds Minseok in the tiny little pool behind the cabin. He’s lounging against the side in the shade from the attached beach umbrella, head tilted back, arms spread wide along the edge of the pool.

He doesn’t react when Jongdae pads over to sit beside him, dangling his hairless legs into the water. It’s still weird to look down and see them like that, but it’s weirder to see Minseok so subdued after the last few days.

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae offers into the silence between them.

Minseok huffs. “You don’t even know what you’re sorry for, do you?”

“I obviously upset you. Said the wrong thing? I’m supposed to be good with words, but somehow I keep fucking them up with you.”

“Because you’re shit at feelings, Kim Jongdae. You say what you’re supposed to, what you see as neutral but reassuring, and that’s probably why you’re so good at your business stuff. It’s all posturing and protocol, all your negotiating phrases to gain the most information from the other party while revealing the least about yourself. How much have I shared with you over these last few days, and how much have you given me in return?”

The massive tropical bug that flies past gets Jongdae to quickly shut his gaping mouth. “Nothing! You’ve told me nothing! It’s all an act, all for the cameras, you wouldn’t even be interacting with me at all if not for the however many selfies per day we’re supposed to post, not that I blame you. And you’ve gotten all of me, I mean, you know I can’t act for shit, you’re so good at getting me to react appropriately in your live broadcasts and in public and to make the perfect expressions for the selfies. It fucking hurts every time, because I know it’s fake, I know you’d never choose a guy like me if you had other options, but what am I supposed to do? I can’t be mad at you for playing the role you were forced into. Why are you mad at me for trying to protect my easily-fooled heart?”

“It’s not your heart that’s the problem. I don’t claim to be brilliant, but I’m beginning to think there’s such a thing as  _ too _ smart.”

“You are, though,” Jongdae says, but Minseok cuts him off.

“Is your phone in your pocket?”

“What? No?”

“Good.”

And before Jongdae can make sense of the question, Minseok bobs up between his spread knees, fists the fabric of his T-shirt over his chest, and pulls. Jongdae doesn’t even have time to flail before he’s in the pool with Minseok, primal panic flooding his mind until he realizes the bottom of the pool is within easy reach of his toes. He catches himself, steadied by the hands in his shirt and arrested by the earnest look in Minseok’s eyes. Here’s the tiger again, all that hot, messy sincerity, and Jongdae would back down, run away if he weren’t held fast.

“Kim Jongdae, do you see any cameras around us right now? Any selfie sticks nearby, any spectators peering over the privacy fence?”

Jongdae glances around. “Um. No?”

“So there’s no reason for me to be acting any certain way.”

“I guess n—”

His words are cut off by Minseok’s lips. Against his. For no reason?

Or, just maybe, based on the enthusiasm of the too-brief kiss and the almost petulant look Minseok gives him when pulling away, for the  _ right _ reason.

“I’m an idiot,” Jongdae says. His heart is in overdrive as usual with any affection Minseok gives him, but for once Jongdae doesn't immediately chide himself away from the secret longing in his so-squishy heart. Still, his reservations send words tumbling from his still-tingling lips. “But—why? I mean, really? I’m not just convenient?”

“Why is it so hard to believe?”

“Well, I mean, look at you. You keep saying I’m cute in the photos and I believe you but, seriously, Min, you could do way better.”

“Better than what? Someone who cares what I think? Who listens to me and respects the things I say so much that he’s impossible to seduce? Who tries to do nice things for me all the time, while expecting literally nothing from me in return? Who keeps me out of trouble, while still seeing to the reason I’d want to start shit in the first place? What’s not to like?”

There’s an answer already on Jongdae’s tongue, but Minseok interrupts before he can get it out.

“If you say anything about your looks, I will knee you in the balls.”

He’s still got ahold of Jongdae’s shirt, making the threat very credible. Jongdae shuts his mouth. Then he opens it again. “You don’t seem to like my family?”

Minseok shrugs. “I don’t particularly like my own family, either. But fuck them, we’ll make our own, just for us, and we don’t have to share it with anybody, on the internet or off.”

Jongdae turns his awkward smile into an exaggerated gape. “You’d raise our kittens agnostic?”

“They’d be our kittens, we can raise them however we want. Your family and the public are entitled to certain aspects of my life,  _ our _ life, but not all of it. Yes, we have to be cute on camera sometimes, but it doesn’t have to be an act. It’s nobody else’s business if it is or not. You are terrible at acting, but you’re also really endearing. The more time we spent together, the less acting I actually had to do. And the most acting I’ve done on this trip is pretending I’m okay with you sleeping on the damn sofa.”

The tension bubbles out of Jongdae in a laugh. “I still think you’ll regret waking up with me twined all around you in this heat,” he says. “But I’m willing to let you make that choice for yourself.”

“Good. Stop holding the contract between us like a shield. Are you always so contrary? ‘This is what we were forced to do, therefore we absolutely will not enjoy it?’”

“How was I supposed to know you weren’t acting, though?” Jongdae protests, giving in to the urge to wrap his arms around Minseok’s waist. “You were kinda scary that first interview in our apartment, how believable you were.”

“I told you—you’re fun to fluster. I didn’t intend to go that route, I just meant to give them their selling-point shirtless photos, but the way you reacted when you saw me was too funny, I couldn’t resist.”

“Kim Minseok, you might be pure evil.”

Minseok throws his head back and laughs, exposing the long line of his neck, Adam’s apple bouncing merrily in a way that makes Jongdae want to put his mouth on it. So he does, loving the way it vibrates against his lips with Minseok’s pleased little hum.

“Oh, so now you think I’m attractive?”

“Shut up, you know you’re gorgeous. I’ve always appreciated it, but it felt cheap until I got to appreciate what’s inside your beautiful head.” Minseok pulls in a breath, but Jongdae pushes on before he can speak. “If you say anything about being dumb, I’ll knee you in the balls.”

Minseok huffs out a laugh. “Fair. No negative self-talk for either of us.”

“We’ll put that in the contract,” Jongdae murmurs against Minseok’s chlorine-flavored neck. “Not the one they made us sign, our  _ own _ contract just for us. No negative self-talk, and no religious conflict.”

Minseok runs his hands over Jongdae’s shoulders, laughing wryly at his poor stretched-out shirt. “No acting, except by mutual agreement for public consumption.”

Jongdae decides the best solution to his wardrobe issue is to simply remove his shirt entirely, enjoying the way Minseok hums approvingly. “No letting Baekhyun pinch my cheeks, especially when he’s not dressed.”

“I don’t think I can sign to that one,” Minseok sighs, gliding a palm up Jongdae’s back to curve over his shoulder. “He is not a force that can be controlled.”

“Fair.” Jongdae trails kisses across Minseok’s collarbone. “I won’t hold you to it, but I reserve the right to whine about it if it happens.”

Minseok gasps a little when Jongdae bites at his chest. “That, I will sign off on.”

Further negotiations are conducted wordlessly but very, very thoroughly, making them late for their dinner reservations. They get stuck at an uneven table in the back, right by the door to the kitchen that swings open with a clatter of dishes every time they try to have a conversation.

Even so, Jongdae can’t bring himself to wish they’d made it on time.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

Jongdae may not have gotten the wedding night of his dreams (assuming he’d bothered to dream about it at all, which he hadn’t) but the rest of their honeymoon is turning out to be an entirely different story. They go at it vigorously and often enough over the next two days that they leave each other sore, resulting in some awkward wincing (and smothered laughter) during some of their more physical scheduled activities.

Jongdae has no regrets.

Minseok’s lips are soft against his as he’s pressed down against the mattress, making a space between his legs for Minseok as easily as he’d made a space for him in his heart.

“I can’t decide when you’re most attractive,” Minseok murmurs against Jongdae’s neck. “When you’re beneath me like this, all pliant and responsive, or when you’re above me, concentrating on fucking me into a coma.”

Jongdae shivers at the warm breath over dampened skin. “That’s the only time I’m attractive? I’m just a sex toy to you?”

“Shut up, you know I think you’re adorable all the time and I’ve grown rather fond of you.”

Jongdae laughs, because that’s quite a non-standard thing to hear from one’s spouse. But of course Jongdae’s not going to be professing undying love for someone he’s still getting to know, either, despite his massive crush.

“I’ll take it,” he tells his husband—his  _ real _ husband—between kisses. “I’m rather fond of you, too. You’re bright and interesting to talk to, and I’m lucky to get to share my life with someone so good-hearted.”

“You know just what to say to get into a guy’s pants,” Minseok chuckles against his mouth. 

“I mean it!” Jongdae whines.

“So do I,” Minseok whines back. “So why aren’t we naked yet?” 

Clothing is hastily discarded, and Minseok slides the lube out from beneath the pillow. They don’t even bother to put it away anymore.

“Hold your leg up for me, babe.”

“Oh, god,” Jongdae whines, “please don’t give me waxing flashbacks.”

Minseok’s laugh is wicked. “But we’re so silky smooth when we rub together. Doesn’t it feel nice?”

“I guess,” Jongdae admits. He still feels awkwardly like he’s twelve again when he looks down at his own naked body, even as the sight of Minseok hairless and bare for him is oddly arousing. “I don’t think I want to be like this all the time, though. It's too weird.”

“Maybe for special occasions? Birthdays, anniversaries?” Minseok’s hands on his silky-smooth body are making it hard for Jongdae to remember his objections.

“No negotiating when we’re naked,” he whines. “You know it’s not fair.”

“I’m not negotiating, merely suggesting,” Minseok says, blinking innocently despite the fact that he’s got two fingers crooked inside Jongdae, teasing at his prostate and smiling sweetly as he squirms.

Jongdae grumbles a little more as Minseok laughs, but he grabs Minseok’s hand when he reaches for a condom. “You said you were tested. I haven’t been with anyone in an embarrassingly long time, and I get tested with every yearly physical my family makes all the execs take for insurance purposes.”

Minseok cocks his head. “You really want me raw?”

“I want you however you’re most comfortable. But you’re the first one I’ve ever bottomed for, and, uh, I kind of want the full experience, as it were. At least once, if it’s not how you prefer things.”

Minseok’s eyes are predatory in the moonlight. “Oh, if you want the  _ full  _ experience, babe, I’m more than happy to fill you.”

“Yeah?” The word comes out in three or four syllables as Minseok pushes inside him.

“Yeah. But you have to return the favor. It’d be fucking hot to feel you pulsing inside me, knowing you’re leaving a bit of yourself behind, just for me.”

“All yours,” Jongdae says, the words familiar in his mouth even as the deja vu clashes with the current situation. It seems so long ago, but it was only a handful of months. It’s mind-boggling that he’s here now, pulling Minseok deeper with a handful of ass.

“So eager for me,” Minseok says, voice a lusty rumble. “You want me that much, Dae? Want me to give you what’s only yours?”

Jongdae moans even before Minseok starts thrusting, his words curling hot in his belly. The words continue as he gazes down at Jongdae, never once looking away, not even after Jongdae’s made a mess all over his chest, not even as he rides out his own orgasm, grinding deep as if to bury his pleasure inside Jongdae forever.

It suddenly strikes him as funny, that this is the same man who didn’t even glance his way for months, barely gave him one-word answers, now staring him down while erotic words pour through kiss-swollen lips. And once Jongdae starts laughing, he can’t stop, even as Minseok stares down at him, thoroughly bemused.

“You okay, there?”

“Perfectly,” Jongdae answers, or tries to, attempting it several times before giving up and flopping back on the bed in helpless laughter.

Minseok shakes his head, but he’s wearing a smile as he pulls out and cleans them both up. Jongdae’s still riding out residual chuckles when he flops down beside him again, throwing an arm across his middle.

“You’re a weird guy, Kim Jongdae,” he says against Jongdae’s shoulder. “But I really like you.”

“I really like you, too,” Jongdae manages to get out.

Minseok gives him a squeeze.

#  ꘏꘏꘏

The next day, Jongdae deliberately leaves his sunglasses at that morning’s weave-your-own-basket class, just so he can dart back to look for the bracelet booth. Minseok still hasn’t worn the one Jongdae gave him, and Jongdae’s determined to give his husband a proper gift if it’s the last thing he manages to do.

The vendor doesn’t seem to recognize him, and Jongdae doesn’t blame her—she must get so many customers that they all blur together. Jongdae musters up all his English, deducing the word for  _ bracelet _ from the sign above the rack—or so he hopes.

“I bought one bracelet, a few days ago. Do you remember? Just one, even though you try to give me two.”

“Oh, yes, you not take it even though you pay for it. Very strange.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve been told. Uh. Can I take it now? I’ll pay for it again.”

The woman shakes her head. “Couple bracelets are two of a kind—no pair is the same. So I throw it away—no use for just one.” 

Jongdae’s heart plummets all the way to his toes. He hadn’t really been expecting that anyone had laid aside that specific bracelet for him, but he hadn’t realized that there were no other bracelets in that exact pattern with those same colors. He’d been expecting to buy another pair of the same style of bracelet and ditch the extra. He has no idea what to do in the face of this impossibility.

“This set’s really striking, don’t you think?” comes a too-familiar velvety voice from over his shoulder. “I think this foresty green looks great on you, and I love the purpley-blue. They go well together, just like we do.”

“Min…” Jongdae’s shoulders droop below the pointy chin resting on one of them. “It’s not romantic if you have to come pick out your present  _ again. _ I was supposed to just casually stroll up wearing it, and you’d be all touched, and finally have something to show off to Baekhyun that wasn’t marked with a recycling sign on the bottom.”

Minseok laughs, wrapping both arms around him and rocking a little. “It’s still plenty romantic. I mean, you’re right that you’re a terrible actor, but it was cute how you tried to repeat your little ruse. It’s super sweet that you want to match with me, even if it didn’t work out the way you planned.”

He hands the woman the payment, waving her off when she offers to box the bracelets up. He hands one to Jongdae, then ties the other around his wrist, fingers elegant and efficient. He looks up at Jongdae with a smile that radiates fondness.

“What did Super Mario say? That compromise can be beautiful, and it’s still worth enjoying even if it’s not perfect?” 

Jongdae still pouts a little, because Minseok deserves perfect and Jongdae really, really wanted to give it to him. But the rich indigo pops against Minseok’s skin the same sort of way the green stands out against Jongdae’s own, so he finds his smile as he ties the bracelet in place around his husband’s wrist.

“A good negotiator knows when to compromise,” he concedes. “Though I’m not supposed to make compromises that are so evenly beneficial.”

“Maybe not at work, but at home, we’ll always try, won’t we?” Minseok laces their fingers together, holding up their matching wrists where the intricate weaving can be clearly illuminated by the bright Fijian sun.

“Yeah,” Jongdae says, leaning in to give his husband a quick little kiss. “We’ll be sure to put that in the contract.”

#  ꘏꘏꘏


End file.
